


Bolt from the Blue

by TheArchaeologist



Series: Apple of my Eye [1]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Angst, Ben Hargreeves Needs A Hug, Blood and Gore, Canon-Typical Behavior, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Drugs, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Father-Son Relationship, Five is Klaus' Son AU, Fluff, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Klaus Hargreeves Needs A Hug, Number Five | The Boy Needs A Hug, Parent Klaus AU, Parent Klaus Hargreeves, Parenthood, Swearing, Uncle-Nephew Relationship, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-06
Updated: 2019-10-21
Packaged: 2020-02-27 05:10:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 39
Words: 84,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18732259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheArchaeologist/pseuds/TheArchaeologist
Summary: When they were sixteen Klaus successfully escaped for the night, and to celebrate went to the disco with a girl he barely knew. He was young, terribly misguided, but overall the night had been amazing.He just didn't expect to have a baby dumped in his arms nine months later.Or,The author takes a throw away joke in the show and runs with it.





	1. 13th December 2010

****

**13th December 2010**

There are many strange things that have happened in Klaus’ relatively short life.

For a man of only twenty-one years of age, he has discussed with a chimpanzee the state of the economy (or, rather, nodded along and hummed in the appropriate moments while Pogo complained), witnessed his brother try and fail to control the slaughter-happy tentacles that lived within his chest, and has conversed with the dead more times that he cares to count. 

For most people that would be enough, would tip the weirdness scale a bit too far for their liking and they would leave. 

Klaus never had that option.

It’s what he gets for being adopted by a madman. He’s sure dear old mother, whoever she was and wherever she may be, was reassured that Klaus would be taken care of, that he would be kept warm, and safe, and would be loved like any other child. 

Unfortunately for him, Reginald Hargreeves is a lying bastard with a superiority complex. 

Just look at Five.

Dear, sweet little Five. Klaus can’t even _remember_ him. Apparently, Luther can, but that may just be the _I’m Number One_ -ness talking to try and better Diego, who owns a scribbled drawing from their deceased brother which he displayed in his bedroom with pride growing up.

According to Dad, Five died aged two because he developed the ability to walk through solid objects, but lacked the sense to use said ability on the moving car speeding towards him.

According to Vanya and Allison, it was only a few weeks later they gained several full-time nannies instead of just the one who watched them during the day.

Klaus simply thinks Dad was an asshole who neglected his children and allowed one of them to die.

Over the course of their childhood, his siblings would inquire after Number Five, asking if he ever manifested from the other side to haunt them. In a twisted way, Klaus wished he would, because putting up with a toddler seemed far more appealing than the murder victims and ghosts who had lingered for so long that their marbles had been lost a long time ago.

Which is another thing to add to the ‘strange bullshit he lives with’ list. Who else wants to see their dead brother?

Then again, Klaus kind of got his wish.

“I’m telling you,” Ben says, arms crossed as he perches on the edge of the tattered couch, eyes trailing over the room. “I saw him do it.”

“I’m not doubting that you saw _something_ , Benny-boy.” Klaus waves off easily, buried deep in bills and receipts, “I’m just saying that,” He drops his voice to a low whisper, “ _Swirling blue shit_ was probably not part of it. He was by the window, the TV was on, it could have been anything, a reflection or something.”

Ben shoots him an incredulous look. “Seriously? We have a sister who can rumour people, and you want to argue facts?”

Abandoning the bills onto his lap, Klaus crosses his legs and folds his arms. “He’s not like me.” He states, gnawing at his lip and bouncing his foot in the air. “That was nothing unusual about how he was born, probably, and unlike us he never did anything odd as a toddler.”

“What did _we_ do that was odd as toddlers?”

“Pretty sure Luther broke a nanny’s finger once.” Shrugging, Klaus switches his legs over, eyes trailing up towards the patch of mould that was growing in the corner of the room again. “And you and I both know that as soon as Allison knew how to rumour, she was off.”

Scrunching his nose at that, Ben sits forward, resting his head on his palm. “That aside, I still saw what I saw. Even if it wasn’t, it wouldn’t hurt to keep an eye on him, the last thing we need it something to happen when our backs are turned.”

“Or worse,” Klaus adds, nibbling at a nail, “When Mrs Barns is watching him.”

Ben laughs, tilting his head back. “Jesus, she would freak. Is it bad I want him to turn into a spider or something?”

“ _Yes_.” His lips tugging, Klaus mock glares at his brother. “She’d squish him without a second thought.”

“Well, I’d be a great babysitter.”

“You’d be the _only_ babysitter, and you wouldn’t even get paid for it.”

That, apparently, is enough to make Ben doublethink. “Alright, I take it back. Keep him.”

Chuckling, Klaus stretches, cracking the vertebrae of his spine. “Why thank you, that’s _oh so_ kind.”

“I do my best.”

“What’s kind?” A small voice pipes up from the end of the couch, and Klaus brushes the bills aside to lay out and peer over the arm, grinning down at the five-year-old who blinks up at him with the same overly quizzical expression that reminds Klaus more of an old man than a child.

He huffs, reaching over to ruffle the kid’s thick black hair. “You’re Uncle Ben is just being silly.”

The child immediately perks, abandoning the notepad where he’d been crudely drawing the imitation of numbers to clamber up over the arm and join Klaus on the couch, settling back against his stomach.

“Where is he?”

Wrapping his arms around the child’s middle, Klaus sits upright and brings him onto his lap as Ben scoots over. “Right beside me.”

Nodding, he waves, “Hi Uncle Ben.”

“Hi, Five.” Ben grins back, although Five cannot see it.

Klaus wedges his head beside Five’s ear, stage whispering, “He says hi.”

“Can you make him visible?” Wiggling on his lap, Five kicks his feet and his second-hand socks, his hands playing together in a habit that neither men could fathom the origin of. 

Shaking his head, Klaus scoops Five up as he stands, making the boy shriek. “Sorry buddy, but Daddy has work soon, and Mrs Barns will be here in a moment.”

Five complains at that, dragging out the word ‘no’ and struggling to free himself from Klaus’ grip. Ben scoffs, trailing after them as Klaus crosses the room to the designated kitchen area, comprising of a sink, two hobs, a microwave oven, a fridge-freezer, and a very small section of counter to prep food on.

Still kicking half-heartedly, Five pouts up at Klaus. “She smells like old clothes.” 

“She smells like old clothes because she’s an old woman.”

“Not my fault.”

Snorting, he sets Five down on the edge of the counter. “Not her fault either, bud.” Reaching over to the table, Klaus grabs Five’s Spiderman-themed hairbrush. “Now, what are we going to do today?”

Glowering as much as a five-year-old can, Five allows his Dad to untangle the knots he has somehow gained in his hair. “Behave and do as we’re told.” He recites, and Klaus praises him with a smile.

“Uh-huh, and what are we not?”

Five licks his lips, holding out a hand to quietly count off, “Climb on the table, or onto the window, or into the sink, or into the shower, or onto the door, or onto Mrs Barns.”

“Are we sure he’s not part monkey?” Ben comments, leaning against the wall. Klaus glances at him out of the corner of his eye but doesn’t humour Ben with a response.

“Good boy.” Smoothing out the crinkles of Five’s shirt and mentally noting to pick up a new iron while he was out, Klaus grins at him. “Wait here, I’m going to get your shoes.”

Five tilts his head. “I don’t need shoes.”

Happy that Five won’t go teetering off the counter, Klaus wanders over to the door of the apartment and the designated ‘shoe area’, tossing his own heels and boots out the way as he digs through for Five’s trainers.

“I know you don’t, but Mrs Barns has a thing about it. I got a full goddamn lecture last week.”

Immediately wincing, he hears Five gasp. “Money pot!”

“Aw,” Exaggerating a pout, Klaus peers over his shoulder towards Five, putting on his best puppy face. “But I was doing so well.”

“Nah-uh.” Shaking his head, Five squirms on the counter. “You sweared twice yesterday.”

“ _Swore_ , and no I did not!”

Kicking his feet again, Five crosses his arms, mimicking the over the top manner he’d seen Klaus use a million times. “You did too!” 

Tutting, Klaus resumes his search through their footwear, somehow coming to the muddy piece of newspaper he used as a mat at the bottom. “Hey Five, did you move your shoes?”

“Klaus…”

“Nope.” Five pops the ‘p’, before dissolving into making more popping noises with his mouth.

Perhaps they have fallen into Klaus’ own shoes, they are still small enough for that. Heck, they are still the size where he has to be careful not to lose them down the back of the couch to join the dust and broken springs.

Tipping out one of his old heeled boots that he has owned since he was sixteen and somehow still fit, Klaus asks again, “Are you _sure_ you’ve not seen them?” Because sometimes it’s best to ask twice. Five likes to ignore parts of the question and only answer the bits he wants.

“Klaus-”

“I had them on at the park.”

“Ah,” That was right, it had rained, and Klaus specifically made sure they didn’t track mud into the room. “Then where have they-”

“Klaus!”

Jumping ten feet at Ben’s panicked cry, Klaus whips around just in time to see Five topple over the edge off the counter with a high-pitched shriek. Before he can think he’s halfway across the room, stumbling on discarded shoes to reach him.

Then Five is gone in a strike of blue.

He freezes, blinking dumbly. “Shit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, hello, welcome to this little au!
> 
> Two things:
> 
> 1) Pay attention to the time stamps, they will be important!
> 
> 2) Just because a few people asked, the first Five, whose power was to phase through solid objects, died when he was two. Klaus' son is the Five we know.
> 
>  
> 
> [Tumblr](https://ancientstone.tumblr.com/)


	2. 24th September 2018

****

**24th September 2018**

“Dad!” Five’s voice comes echoing through the open door to his bedroom, “Have you seen my math book?”

“On the table!” Klaus calls, halfway through buttering a sandwich, because if he left it to his son, the kid would survive off pure carbs for the rest of his life. He glances to the cracked clock on the wall. “You’ve got ten minutes!”

There’s a familiar bust of energy behind him, and Klaus hears Five curse quietly as he starts flinging things off the table in search for his book. Ben makes a scoffing noise, somehow perched on top of the microwave oven like a goddamn eagle, watching him with a fond smirk.

“Language.” Klaus sing-songs, turning to wiggle the butter knife in Five’s direction. 

Five pays no attention, tossing the free local newspaper to the floor as he finally locates the thin orange workbook. His tie sits skewed under his collar, the knot far too tight, and the school blazer half hangs off his shoulder. He’s taken the time to organise his hair, though, in that strangely neat way that Klaus has just accepted as a Five-ism. 

“Why’d you let me sleep in?” his tone more than a little complaining, Five vanishes is a flash and reappears just as quickly with his backpack, stuffing the book inside. “I needed to finish my science homework.”

Klaus coos, placing a hand over his heart. “You looked so cute, all bundled up, and you still had two hours-”

“To _finish_ my _homework_.” Dumping the bag on one of the chairs, Five starts tugging on his shoes, yanking the laces with a bit too much vigour as he ties those ridiculous knots he picked up from Klaus at an early age and never forgot.

Returning to the sandwich, Klaus plops in a few slices of cheap packet cheese. “And that would have taken you two hours?”

Five stutters, indignant. “Of course not, but Miss Orwell promised to find harder worksheets for me if I get this stuff done now.”

“Didn’t she set it yesterday?”

“Yeah?”

“And you’re handing it in today?”

“Yep.”

A flutter of pride flitters its way through Klaus’ chest, and he snaps the lid on the lunchbox, abandoning the knife into the sink for later. “Who’d have thought we’d have a genius in the family?”

“Doesn’t Luther count?” Ben pipes from the microwave oven, making Klaus snort as Five takes the food, tucking it away into a back pocket of his bag.

“Got your raincoat?”

Five jumps to and from the coat hanger, holding it up with a triumphant, if slightly shit-eating, grin. Klaus tuts at him, moving over to adjust the tie and collar. Behind him he hears Ben clamber down from the oven.

“Just because you _can_ jump,” He chastises, bopping Five on the nose as he does, “Does not mean you _should_.”

Five just shrugs, the movement highlighting his slipping blazer. He tugs it back into place. “It’s easier.”

“It’s _lazier_.” Taking the coat from Five’s hand, he holds it out for him to slip into. Five rolls his eyes but relents to his Dad’s will, allowing Klaus to fix it securely around him and do up the zip. “And if there’s one thing you aren’t, it’s lazy.” Klaus blinks. “Shit, you really need a new coat.”

Last year the sleeves had only been the tiniest bit too short, but it seems that Five has done some serious growing because now they are a good inch or so above his wrists. The bottom of the coat is higher as well, looking more like a jacket than anything useful for winter. At least it’s not raining hard today.

“Language.” Five sing-songs, eyes twinkling with humour and dodging the light smack Klaus sends his way.

“Not my fault, stop growing!”

“And get Mrs Barns to babysit me again? No thanks.” Reaching around to grab his bag, Five swings it over his shoulder. “Will you be home tonight?”

Klaus chews at his lip, tilting his head side-to-side in a ‘maybe’ gesture. “Depends what Mr Adams has going. You’ve got that trip coming up.”

Something akin to guilt flashes across Five’s face, and he shifts, fiddling with the bag strap. “I don’t have to-”

“Nah-uh!” Bopping his nose again, and thoroughly enjoying the disgruntled expression he gets for his troubles, Klaus crosses his arms firmly. “If we can, we will. So, que sera, sera, got it?”

Five nods, but he doesn’t seem too pleased about it. “Got it.”

“Great, now if we can-” A sudden, high-pitched wail catches him completely off guard, making Klaus startle about a mile and his heart all but leap into his throat. Five flinches back as he does. “Christ on a _cracker_ …”

“Who is it today?”

Watching Ben stroll across to the middle-aged woman wandering in from the bathroom, Klaus mutters, “Mrs Keller.”  


“Ah.” Pulling a face, Five stuffs his hands into his pockets. “Death via orgy, right?”

“Yeah, that’s-” Cutting himself off, Klaus rounds on Five, blinking dumbly. “Ex- _squeeze_ me?”

Ben and Five burst out laughing in perfect sync, Ben spluttering forward and trying to smother it under a hand as Five tilts his head back. Ben quickly gains some sense of composure as Klaus fixes him with a dangerous stare, ducking behind Five and putting his hands into the air.

“He was curious!” Ben giggles, not at all sorry. “He was going to find out eventually!”

“He most certainly was _not!”_

“Oh, come on! It would only be so long before you let something slip!”

Klaus jabs a finger at his brother. “I’ve managed to keep schtum for nearly thirteen years, there was no way I was going to tell him!”

Five just continues laughing, thoroughly enjoying the exchange even if he can only hear one side of the conversation. Klaus huffs, marching across the room to grab his own coat while attempting to wave Mrs Keller out through their closed apartment door. It doesn’t work, but she does close her mouth to go nosey at the contents of their bin, so Klaus takes it as a win.

“Bet you’ve told him about all the others as well, now.” He pulls on his coat with too much force. “That’s the last time I let you two to hang out.”

“Aw, Dad!” Five immediately protests, “You can’t do that!”

“C’mon, Klaus! Let me bond with my nephew!”

Klaus grabs his wallet off the table, slipping it into his pocket. “You call that bonding?”

“Please, Dad,” Begging now, Five adds, “I need Uncle Ben with me today anyway, we got the group pres-”

“Oh, the presentation?” Ben asks, but Five talks straight through him.

“-entation, and I need to know what Mr Umpton writes for ours.”

Klaus raises an eyebrow. “Why do you need to know that? Can’t you just wait like everyone else?”

“If I don’t get an A in class, then I won’t end up in the higher set next year.” Fiddling with something in his pocket, Five’s stance turns awkward. “If I don’t get a high grade for the presentation, I’ll _really_ need to make sure my end of year project does.”

Realisation dawns on Ben’s face. “Oh, he’s nervous. Klaus, hug him.”

There’s no need for Ben to tell him what to do, because Klaus is already halfway there, wrapping long arms around Five’s shoulders and pulling him in close. Five stiffens a little, a reminder that he’s a growing boy and soon such obvious signs of affection will be deemed worse than Satan himself, but for now he allows it with only mild distaste.

Klaus has the benefit that Five grew up with him, so he is used to all the cuddles.

“You’ll do great, Hawaii Five-O.” He hears Five groan at the old nickname. “You always do.”

“Yeah, on my own. This is a _group_ project, and Mike, last I knew, still hadn’t drawn his stupid volcano diagram.”

Pulling away, Klaus holds his shoulders. “What happens if he doesn’t?”

“He’ll use the one I made last night.”

Klaus doesn’t know whether to snort or sigh on that. On the one hand, yay for Five thinking ahead and showing initiative, on the other, seeing his son spend his time doing other people’s work puts a thick lump in his throat.

He settles on just clapping Five’s shoulder. 

Ben makes a noise behind him. “I hate to be the barer of bad news, but the time…”

“Oh, shit!” Spinning around, Klaus glances to the clock. “Fuck, you’re late! Go, go, go!”

Five’s already moving. “Bye Dad!” He yells as he jumps, probably to the bottom of the staircase.

“Have fun at work.” Ben waves at him, slipping off to follow Five.

Buttoning up his coat, Klaus sighs. Over in the corner, Mrs Keller laughs at something.

Flicking off the lights, Klaus waves at her. “Enjoy a dark apartment all day, you crazy old bat!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing Five as a kid who grew up with Klaus as a Dad but still keeping him Five is goddamn hard!
> 
>  
> 
> [Tumblr](https://ancientstone.tumblr.com/)


	3. 25th September 2018

****

**25th September 2018**

Ben has, for some reason, elected to sprawl across the floor of the aisle Klaus is currently restocking, eyeing the front covers of the magazines with a notable expression of distaste. 

Why death has made Klaus’ brother partly turn into a cat he doesn’t know, but he is sure that if Ben could feel heat, then he would be found stretched out in the sunny spots of their apartment. Five would probably end up joining him, given his amusing habit of being able to fall asleep anywhere. He was found more times than Klaus could count in odd crooks of the library when he was little.

It also earned Klaus several thousand heart attacks as well.

“Y’know,” Sighing, Klaus flip several copies of _Fishermen Weekly_ so they sit the right way on the shelf, “No one’s forcing you to look at them.”

“How can people read this crap?” Sitting up, Ben leans his elbow on his knee, his head on his hand and scowling as if the magazines have personally wronged him. “Who cares about the lives of the top percent?”

Putting on a fake tone of hurt, Klaus gasps, “Why, all our adoring fans, of course.”

Ben laughs with little humour. “Remember when Dad caught that guy climbing in the window to try and get pictures?”

“Oh yeah, paparazzi creep or regular creep?”

“Paparazzi, I think.”

Klaus scrunches his nose. “That doesn’t really make it any better.”

“Not in the slightest.” Huffing tiredly, which is uncalled for seeing as he’s dead and Klaus is the one hauling boxes around all day, Ben flops down again, tucking his arms under his head and crossing his feet. After a moment of silence, he says, “I think Pogo bit someone once.”

“Yikes, I hope they got their shots.” Setting the far too glittery _Pony Pals_ issues down in the children’s section, Klaus stands on his toes to deal with the age-restricted items higher up. “You couldn’t pay me to deal with an angry Pogo if you tried.”

“Speaking of being paid, how are we doing on the school trip front?”

Immediately Klaus feels his face fall, and he clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “What’s this ‘we’ business?”  


“Klaus.” Ben doesn’t fall for the stalling tactic, staring unimpressed from the floor. 

His shoulders sag. “We’re still short. Since when were schools so expensive, anyway?” Klaus runs a hand through his hair. “Plus, if his coat isn’t fitting anymore, then that blazer will be the same soon. We got lucky finding it in the bargain bin last time.”

“Typical, he ends up in the only school for miles that requires a uniform.”

“I know!”

Someone has put a copy of _My Little Furry Friends_ , a series designed for seven-year-olds, between _The Real Man_ and _Excitement_. Klaus can’t work out if it is purposeful or not but considering how much his boss would yell if he left it there, he quickly returns it to its rightful place, though perhaps a touch too violently than intended.

“Will some extra shifts cover it?”

“ _Just_ , as long as we don’t get any little surprises until the end of the month.”

“You know you just jinxed yourself, right?”

Klaus hisses. “Shut u-”

“Excuse me?” A sweet little voice says somewhere behind him, and Klaus yelps, spinning around to grin slightly too wide at the elderly woman peering up at him through thick rimmed glasses. She clutches a handbag between her shaking hands.

His work voice quickly takes over, and he forces his eyes to light up with fake friendliness. “Yes, Ma’am, how can I help?”  


“Where are the birthday cards?”

“Ah,” Leaning down, because somehow this woman is only half his height, he points off to the side, “Third aisle on the right.”

“Aw, you’re such a sweetheart.” She praises, her voice like honey, “Thank you dear.” With that she tottles off, walking straight through the sale promotion stand without even blinking.

Staring after her, Klaus sucks in a breath, slowly turning on his heel to smile stiffly at Ben. “You could’ve said.”

Ben shrugs, “Why should I do all the work?”

“I'm _literally_ at work!”

“So am I.”

“I’m the one who's actually-”

A voice cuts in behind him, “Hey, where-”

“Fuck off!”

A pause.

“Klaus.” Comes the unmistakable voice of Mr Adams, low and controlled and very obviously trying not to shout in front of the customers. 

Clearing his throat, Klaus faces his boss, a sheepish, half-panicked grin stretching his face. “Good afternoon, Sir. How’s Jan-”

“Don’t try and butter me up, Klaus, I’m not in the mood for it.” Mr Adams snaps, pointing a meaty finger in his face. The man is bitter and grouchy on the best of days, and Klaus is pretty sure telling his boss to _fuck off_ did nothing to improve that beautiful temper. “When you’re on the shop floor, I expect you to be your best. I’m giving you a single warning, got it?”

“Yes, definitely, absolutely.” Klaus nods, a bit too eager, ignoring the curses Ben mutters under his breath beside him.

“Good. I’ve got my eye on you, Hargreeves.”

Mr Adams goes to waddle off to another part of the store, probably to grumble at the new girl for not making the gift bags alphabetical, but Klaus quickly calls, “Wait, uh, can I just ask something?”

Without turning, Mr Adams growls, “What?

“I need some extra shifts.” Using his best pleading voice, Klaus wrings his hands together. “There’s a school trip coming up and Five-”

“I don’t want sob stories. What extra shifts?”

“Harris is off sick, right? Is-”

“Already given it to Jennifer.” Mr Adams waves off before crossing his arms. “And Tom’s taken on all the others, there’s nothing else going.”

Klaus gapes. “Seriously? _Tom?”_ That boy couldn’t tell a soup can from an apple. “All of them?”

Mr Adams grins, in that ‘I think I’m better than you’ way. “Well, perhaps if _somebody_ didn’t have the gall to swear at their boss, then they’d get the extra shifts.”

“What a bastard.” Ben sneers from the floor.

Klaus tunes him out. “Please, Sir. I’m sorry. I need the money, Five’s got a trip, if I don’t pay by next week he can’t go.”

Mr Adams visibly chews his cheek, working his jaw in a show of mulling it over. He’s always had a very odd soft spot for Five, in a weird, distant way, and it’s not the first time Klaus has come asking after work to support his son.

Klaus suspects it has something to do with the little boy with the bloody head that runs around the children’s section sometimes.

Finally, he decides on, “We’ll see.” Before turning and striding off in the direction of his office.

Ben watches him go, sitting up. “Well, that was inconclusive.” He glances towards Klaus. “Think he’ll let you?”

Klaus can only shrug, tossing his hands in the air. “Who knows? If he doesn’t, we’ll have to find something else.”

“Yeah, but _what?”_

“Not a goddamn clue.” Returning to the box of magazines, Klaus pulls out the pile of _Gossip Girls_ , untying the piece of string holding them together. 

A familiar face stares back up at him, and he blinks, mind halting and taking a full second to catch up before finally clicking with recognition. 

Grinning, he holds up a copy to Ben. “We could always ask our dearest sister.”

Climbing to his feet, Ben inspects the magazine, absently adding, “Dearest in both senses.”

Humming, Klaus dumps the issues onto their shelf, keeping one to flick through to find the relevant article. Ben huddles in close, peering over his shoulder at the glossy image of Allison, her husband, and their daughter. The headline reads, ‘ _I heard a rumour someone’s moving house_.’

“Bet they don’t have to worry about uniforms.” Ben sounds almost resentful, a tone Klaus rarely hears unless Ben’s having one of his dark, brooding days about his death. 

“You kidding?” He tries, making his own voice light. “Claire probably goes to Hogwarts.”

It doesn’t work. “You’d think after all this time the others would at least _try_ to visit. Five doesn’t even know them.”

“Not to sound like I’m defending them, but Luther _is_ on the moon, so…”

Ben pulls a face. “Ok, that’s fair enough, but what about Vanya? Or Diego?”

“I saw Diego, what was it, June? July?”

“Yeah, because he drove by. He didn’t even notice you!”

“Alright, alright,” Holding up his hands, Klaus backs off, “What’s the point you’re trying to make here?”

Ben crosses his arms, shrugging. “I’m just saying, while Allison is living it up in L.A. being a star, you’re trying to support a child and apartment on a tiny wage.”

Admittedly, Klaus doesn’t know how to respond to that. 

Half of him wants to defend his siblings. They all fled as soon as they could, none of them looking back at what they had left behind. Luther is the exception as he, as far as Klaus is aware, never set out like the rest of them, choosing to stick to Dad side like an obedient puppy. It is only natural that they would all end up going their separate ways because of it, electing to get on with their own lives rather than being tied down to things from the past.

But the other half very secretly wants to _agree_ with Ben, because it would’ve been damn nice to get a little help once in a while, especially when Five was tiny and Klaus was having to go from door to door among their neighbours looking for someone trustworthy to babysit.

Instead of scrounging up a reply, he just shrugs awkwardly and puts _Gossip Girls_ down, getting back to work before Mr Adams catches him slacking and letting Ben stew with his own thoughts.

Several minutes drift by before Klaus muses aloud, “I wonder if they still do that kid math magazine. Five adored that when he was, what, six?”

“He found them just before his birthday,” Ben supplies, still agitated but calming, “I remember, because he spent half an hour trying to get you to answer why kids start aged zero and not one.”

Klaus snaps his fingers, pointing. “That’s it, and then he got hold of some of my bills and started copying them.”

That prompts a nostalgic smile from Ben. “That was so cute.”

“It was, until I needed to actually _read_ my bills.”

Ben laughs, and Klaus enjoys the sound, ignoring the little old lady a few aisles over as she worries about which card to give her granddaughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ben is a protective octopus and you can't change my mind
> 
>  
> 
> [Tumblr](https://ancientstone.tumblr.com/)


	4. 2nd January 2011

****

**2nd January 2011**

“Ok, little man, let’s try again.”

Klaus sits crossed legged in the middle of room, every possible blanket and pillow and cushion he was able to find scattered across the floor, the kitchen counter, and the shelves. None of them match, clashing bright yellows with sickly purples and neon greens, making the apartment look more like a vomited thrift store than a living space, but that can not be farther from Klaus’ cares at the moment.

Five stands awkwardly in front of him, oddly shy under the attention of his Dad and uncle. Klaus had attempted to convince Five to put his winter coat on, thinking that the extra padding would help should the worst come to the worst and Five ends up toppling outside, but Five wiggled and complained so much Klaus eventually relented.

Ben sits beside him, visible thanks to Klaus’ glowing blue hands.

“I don’t know _how_.” Five whines, fiddling with one of the buttons of his cardigan. Klaus gently pries his fingers away, because the cardigan is missing enough buttons as it is, and they are out of spares.

“What did you do last time?”

“Nothing.”

“Are you sure?” Klaus presses, “Did you think really hard? Like really, _really_ hard?”

“No.” Five states lowly, and Klaus can’t tell if he’s telling the truth or trying to be petulant. 

He nods, attempting to be encouraging anyway. “Ok, so you didn’t think about it. Did your body do something instead?”

Five pouts, whinging, “I don’t know!”

“Klaus,” Ben says softly, leaning into him, “Don’t push too hard, alright?”

“I know Benny-boy.” Running his hand through his hair, Klaus sighs, “I know.”

The problem is, they are not at the academy. If they were, Klaus would not be half as worried as he is right now, because the academy is _big_ and Five is _tiny_ , and there would be plenty of space for him to bop about in.

Their apartment, on the other hand? It barely has four rooms, each one smaller than the last. Plus, they’re not on the ground floor, and Klaus has spent the last month terrified of Five vanishing and ending up out their window. If he fell, then he would be falling three stories.

There is also the fact that, unlike dear old Reggie, Klaus takes Five outside, constantly, almost daily. They have yet to find out what would happen if Five blinked when holding Klaus’ hand, but he doubts that he would be brought along for the ride. The mental image of Five tripping straight into traffic has given Klaus more nightmares than he cared to count.

So, they need to figure this out quickly.

Of course, it was never going to be that easy, was it?

Five watches him, shifting about on his feet and looking thoroughly put upon. He, bless him, truly _has_ been trying, but so far, he has only managed to do it on accident, normally at the most terrible of moments.

Mrs Barns may never get over the shock, Klaus muses.

“Oh, heads up,” Ben says, peering around to stare at the door, “Mrs Keller’s on her way.”

“Ah, righty-o.” Clapping his hands and rubbing them, Klaus smiles at Five, “Say goodbye to Uncle Ben, Five.”

“Aw,” Five’s face falls, “Can’t he stay?”

“Nope. Um, Daddy’s getting tired.”

Daddy is not getting tired. Actually, he’s been getting a whole lot better at making Ben visible, even to the point where he can be in another room, but Klaus has yet to crack how to manifest Ben and only Ben, leaving out all other ghosts in the nearby vicinity. He’s like a lightbulb, he is either on or off, and anything in-between doesn’t exist.

There’s no way in hell Klaus will ever let Five see the orgy woman in all her tight, ill-fitting glory.

“Bye, Five.” Ben waves, and Klaus hates the wistful longing in his eyes, “I’ll see you later, ok?”

Five waves back hesitantly. “Will you be there for bedtime?”

“Always.”

The sounds of Mrs Keller’s wail echoes down the hallway beyond their door, and just before she wafts in through the wall Klaus cuts off his power, sighing in relief as Five blinks when Ben dissolves out of sight. It does little to help _him_ , considering he must now listen to her crying for several hours, but it’s better than the alternative.

Sometimes, though, he misses the drugs.

_God_ , he misses the drugs.

Also, the drink. Even if it never gave him the real buzz he desired, Klaus wouldn’t have been an addict if he did not take whatever he could get, and luckily for him, Dad had whole cabinets of the stuff. 

Of course, getting to it was a challenge, because Dad’s creepy cameras were everywhere, but it only took Klaus a couple of attempts to realise that those cameras could be turned away or shut off, and within a month he could practically do it with his eyes closed.

Woefully, Mrs Keller wanders over to the window, staring out and sobbing nonsense words. She is being nice and loud today, just Klaus’ luck, but there’s sweet fuck all he can do about it. From experience, he knows that no amount of talking, or harassing, or encouragement, will ever pass these pests onto the blissful beyond.

Small arms wrap around his neck, and Klaus startles, automatically moving to hold his son close.

“Dad?” Five asks, pressing his face into the crook of Klaus’ neck, hands holding onto the back of his shirt collar.

Klaus smiles, hugging him. “Yeah, Hawaii Five-O?”

“Sorry I can’t do it.”

“Aw, no, no, no.” Squeezing Five, Klaus shakes his head, rubbing a hand up and down his spine. “No one gets it at first, short stack. It took Uncle Luther years to control his strength, and Auntie Allison was eight by the time she figured everything out.”

A little bit of a white lie, because once Allison knew how to get her own way, she flaunted it to hell and back, but it had taken her years to work out how to rumour and get away with it. Still sat beside him, Klaus hears Ben hum.

Mrs Keller ambles to lament in their bathroom.

“What about you?”

“Me?”

Five pulls away, settling down in Klaus lap and looking up at him. “How long did it take you to control ghosts?”

“I don’t _control_ ghosts, Five.” Running a hand through Five’s hair, he tries to tame the somehow knotted locks. “I can just see them. I was…Seventeen, I think, when I first worked out how to manifest Uncle Ben.”

“Eighteen,” Ben corrects, “Five was one.”

“Eighteen.” 

“Oh.” Five crinkles his nose. “That’s old.”

Gasping in exaggeration, Klaus lets his jaw drop. “Are you calling me _old?”_

“Yes.” Five is in no way apologetic. “Eighteen’s old.”

“I’m not eighteen anymore!”

“How old are you?”

“I’m twenty-one.”

“That’s even older!”

“Nah-uh.”

“Uh-huh!”

_“Nah-uh!”_

_“Uh-huh!”_

“Oh my god.” Ben buries his face in his hands. “You’re such a child.”

“Uncle Ben just called me a child.” Klaus happily announces, “Which means I’m not old.”

Five giggles, leaning against his chest. “Just means Uncle Ben’s even older than you.”

“Put him in timeout.” Ben immediately demands. “Right now. A full hour.”

“Uncle Ben and I were born on the exact same day.” Wrapping his arms around Five, Klaus snuggles him close. “But you know what? Uncle Ben acts like he’s older. He’s more old man-y than your granddad is, and your granddad is _ancient_.”

Ben flops down onto his back with a long-suffering groan. “You’re both grounded.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this au Ben doesn't have just one teasing menace to deal with, but two!
> 
> [Tumblr](https://ancientstone.tumblr.com/)


	5. 26th September 2018

****

**26th September 2018**

Klaus stumbles upon him by complete accident.

Walking back from work at night is dull on the best days, especially as he can’t talk to Ben. Several years ago, Klaus tried to get away with it, but after one too many concerned questions from passers-by they agreed to leave the idle chatter until later, especially when he has Five with him. It was one thing to see a crazy man talking to himself on the streets, another when he has a child in tow.

Klaus outright refused to give anyone the excuse to take Five away from him.

So, he and Ben don’t talk when walking to and from places, which is fine, but makes it as boring as hell.

Therefore, when Klaus lays eyes on the gathering of cars and flashing lights on the other side of the street, then _maybe_ it’s the boredom that makes him cross over so he can walk along the edge of the police tape.

“You’re so nosey.” Ben complains, trailing after him. “It was probably just a break in or something.”

Klaus is about to respond, about to subtly suggest Ben go and look for him, when he spots a figure further up the path, arguing with one of the Detectives and wearing the most godawful ‘ _I want to be a superhero, Mommy_ ’ outfit.

Number Two, Diego.

It only takes seconds for Diego to spot him as well, stumbling halfway through his angry sentence as they lock eyes, the Detective using this to her full advantage to fully push Diego off the scene. He hisses at her, but backs off, making a show of holding his hands in the air. 

She huffs, muttering something to the sky, before returning to the other Officers.

Ben strolls up beside him. “Well, this will be fun.”

“Klaus?” Approaching him slowly, Diego looks Klaus up and down, a look of bewilderment speaking volumes.

“Howdy-ho!” Klaus plasters a smile across his face, “You getting into mischief?”

Diego rolls his eyes. He has a cut on his upper arm, but it doesn’t seem to bother him. “What are you doing here?”

“Nice to see you too, brother.” Klaus mimics Diego’s tone, making Ben splutter, “How have you been? How’s Five?”

“Klaus.” Diego says again, this time unamused. He crosses his arms. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“Well, I am. Most nights, in fact.” He glances at his watch, briefly noting he’ll be running late soon. Five hates it when he runs late, it makes him worry. At Diego’s lost expression, he sighs. “This is my way home from work, silly.”

Realisation finally dawns on Diego’s face. “Oh, you still don’t drive?”

“Like we could afford it.” Ben says, tutting.

“Like I could afford it.” Klaus says without thinking, and then clears his throat, because that was _not_ what he intended to respond with. He sends a glower Ben’s way. “No, no, I don’t.”

“Right.” Diego looks him up and down again, and seriously, has Klaus stepped in something? His work uniform is not that bad, even if this shade of green makes him appear paler than he is. It’s not like you can get tanned inside a shop all day.

Klaus allows himself to frown. “What?”

“ _What_ , what?”

“What’s with all the…” He stretches his eyes wide open, goggling at Diego stupidly, who works his jaw in response, shaking his head as if he cannot believe something.

“Just, the last time I saw you, you were…” He trails off, vaguely gesturing in the direction of Klaus in a way that prompts Ben to make an annoyed noise.

“Seventeen?” Klaus supplies unhelpfully, “In uniform? Handsome as-”

“High.”

“Oh.” Right, of course. He had still been taking, then. Naturally that was going to be the last image ingrained in his sibling’s memories. “Um, no, haven’t been on that stuff for nearly thirteen years now.” He shrugs, suddenly awkward. He tries to play it down. “Kinda hard to get high when you’ve got a baby in your arms. Can’t reach around to get the needle in.”

It’s intended as a joke, but by the expression Diego gives him, it has gone soaring clean over his head. Ben’s eyeroll is almost audible.

Diego muses this over for a moment, stewing in his own thoughts the way he used to when Dad caught him and Luther fighting, before glancing across at the crime scene. The Detective has wandered out of sight now, and Klaus doesn’t miss the way Diego deflates a little at that.

“My point still stands.” He finally says, “You shouldn’t be walking around here at night, bro.”

“And _my_ point still stands. It’s my way home from work.”

“So? Get the bus.” Diego brushes off. “There’s plenty.”

Klaus huffs. “The next bus after my shift is over an hour long wait. Walking takes me forty minutes. Do the math, Diego, I’ve got a kid to sort.”

“Speaking of which,” Ben jumps in, “What’s the time?”

“In fact,” Not missing a beat, Klaus glances at his watch again, wincing at the hands. He is definitely going to be late now. “Gotta skedaddle, Five’s awaiting, and-”

“He’s still called Five?” Talking straight over Klaus, Diego’s face pinches, watching him as if he has sprouted a second head. “Seriously? I thought you would’ve done something about that by now. Jeez.”

“Really, right now?” So, his siblings still like to ignore him. Nice to see not everything changes with age. “I need to get _home_ to my _son_.”

His tone must do something, because Diego backs off, relenting but still giving Klaus a side eye like a scorned child being told he can’t have another cookie.

“Man, you’ve really nailed the Dad Voice.” Ben mutters, grinning like the cat that got the cream. Klaus tries not to show his amusement.

With one last, almost longing gaze at the crime scene, Diego sighs. “Want a ride?”

“Oh.” Klaus says, perking. “Yes. Please. Did I ever tell you you’re my favourite brother?”

Diego makes a ‘tsk’ noise but nods off in the direction of several parked cars. As they cross over the road, Ben calls after them, “Kiss ass!”

Klaus flips him the bird.

Diego’s car is a model, probably a brand of some description.

That is literally all Klaus can say about it. 

The car has four wheels, a steering wheel, seats, and seatbelts. Other than that, he has absolutely no idea. There is a suspicious dent in the passenger seat door, large and about knee-height, but Klaus doesn’t question it and risk rising the ire of the brother who has so kindly offered him a ride home. The most important thing is that it runs, and it will make up for lost time.

By now Five will probably be getting twitchy, and Klaus already predicts that their curtains will be drawn back when he arrives.

“So,” Diego starts conversationally as he shifts the car into gear and they pull out into the road, “Why _didn’t_ you change his name?”

Leaning his elbow on the space just below the door window, Klaus nibbles at his lip. “Long story short, by the time I was in a position where I could, he was old enough to decide for himself to keep his name.”

Ben, sprawled across the back seats, because how else is Klaus going to remember that he is part feline, chuckles lowly, which in turn makes Klaus’ own lips quirk. 

That had been an interesting day, sitting down with Five to try and explain that numbers are not technically names, and that they are common only to their family. Five, being the mini brain box that he is, even back then, had pointed out that legally Klaus was still Number Four and Ben Number Six, and the idea of them being four-five-six was appealing and cool.

Klaus suspected, behind all the logic that Five threw at him, Five actually _liked_ his name.

Who was he to tell his son otherwise, anyway? 

“Poor kid.” Shaking his head, Diego stops at the traffic lights, tapping a nonsense tune on the steering wheel with his fingers as he waits for them to change. “He doesn’t know any better. You should’ve made him.”

“I’m not going to _make_ him do anything.” Immediately on the defensive, Klaus reels his voice into something less snappish, more understanding, the same way he used to when Five began investigating the buttons of the kitchen. “If he wants to change it eventually, then he can.” 

Ben kicks his feet into the space between Klaus and Diego. “Here, here!”

“Right.” Diego says, taking the cue to drop the subject. “Where am I driving you, exactly?”

“Next left, you know Fandern Road?”

“So, that’s where you live, huh?”

“You should visit,” Klaus begins absently and without thinking, only to then latch onto the idea. 

Five’s getting to the age where he wants to start exploring his powers more, and Klaus, who actively avoided his powers most of his life, and Ben, who died before he really understood them, are both wildly underqualified for the task. Having others around who have a better understanding of how to go about testing the waters without getting hurt could be just the thing they need.

Granted, their siblings are emotionally stunted man-children, but it’s better than nothing.

A glance gets sent Klaus’ way. “Man, I dunno, I-”

“I think he’d find you interesting, y'know.”

“Interesting?”

“He has a passing interest in law. I’m sure you’d bond over all your academy stuff.”

Diego chews on the inside of his cheek. “Look, Klaus, I’m not really a kid person.”

“He’s your family!” Ben snaps in the back. “Just meet you nephew!”

“Five doesn’t bite, I swear.” Ploughing on, Klaus tries to set his best pleading eyes on Diego, but his brother is nothing if not resistant. “And, he’ll be thirteen in November. He’s not like Claire, you _can_ have actual conversations with him that don’t revolve around _Mighty Mouse_ or _The Glitter Fairies_.”

Damn, Klaus doesn’t miss the days where _that_ was the height of the intellectual conversations during dinner. He loves his son, he really does, but whoever came up with those stupid, earworm theme tunes could go die in a burning pit. Preferably far enough away where they can’t bug Klaus about it.

Holding up a hand, Diego fixes Klaus a placating smile. “Look, I’ll think about it, alright? Now, where do you want me to drop you?”

Sighing tiredly, Klaus slumps against the seat. “Anywhere is fine.”

Diego ends up almost delivering Klaus to the front door, which is nice of him, but Klaus can already see their curtains drawing back as Five notices his arrival.

“Take care of yourself, yeah?” Diego calls after him as he climbs out. “Be careful walking back that way.”

“Will do, brother-o-mine!” Klaus sloppily salutes, “We’ll look forward to your arrival with bated breath.”

With a nod, Diego leaves, and Klaus is left standing idle on the pavement. Ben wanders up next to him, watching the retreating car.

“You realise he’s never going to visit, don’t you?”

“Oh, I know, I know. But at least _I_ made the effort, right? That has to count for something.”

It’s almost amusing when they enter the apartment, because Five is sat at the table, his schoolbooks laid out in front of him, eyeing Klaus almost accusingly. He has changed out of his school uniform and going by the faint vanilla smell has already claimed his share of the hot water for the evening.

Klaus feels like a teenager caught sneaking out passed curfew.

“Sorry, sorry.” Dumping his keys on the counter, Klaus wraps his arms around Five, who tolerates the hug. “We got a bit distracted.”

“Who was the guy?”

“ _That_ was your Uncle Diego.” Pulling away, Klaus ruffles the damp locks, much to Five’s chagrin. “We bumped into each other. He gave me a lift.”

Five pulls an unreadable face at that. “Oh. Right.”

"What's wrong?"

“Nothing.” Waving Klaus off, Five picks up his pen, gazing down at what looks like his English homework. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Huh.” Ben tilts his head, and then meets Klaus’ gaze. “I’ll wiggle it out of him when you shower.”

With a short nod, Klaus claps his hands, rubbing them together vigorously. “Ok then, dinner?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, there's a few questions answered, but we still have many more to explore!
> 
> [Tumblr](https://ancientstone.tumblr.com/)


	6. 27th September 2018

****

**27th September 2018**

The moment the bell goes, Five is off.

Another day over, another step closer to the holidays and the freedom that comes with it. While it can never be said that Five has a dislike for education, quite the contrary, he cannot get _enough_ , putting up with the idiotic actions of his classmates is never something Five looks forward to. 

Given half the chance he would sit in a class by himself, with the freedom to draw all over the board, chatter about his theories, and ask as many questions as he pleased. But he cannot have his wish, no matter how many times he tries to explain how it would benefit both him and his fellow students, so he is forced into several hours of torture instead.

Sliding everything off his desk and into his bag, Five escapes the classroom before Mr Bennett finishes dismissing them, joining the steady crowd of kids streaming from the building.

Another annoyance is that Dad has banned Five from jumping in public, barring emergencies. While he has never been fully able to wangle the reasoning out from either him or Uncle Ben, he suspected it had something to do with their childhood. Apart from being part of the celebrated Umbrella Academy, Five does not really know what that entails.

Spilling out across the playground and onto the packed sidewalk, the noise slowly begins to ebb away as he navigates the streets of the city, allowing his mind to switch off as he lets his body work on muscle memory. 

This is technically his ‘break’, after all, his space between school and homework, and Uncle Ben keeps complaining that he does not know how to relax properly. It will only be a matter of time before Dad gets on his case about it as well, and then he will never be allowed his science books back. Therefore, Five compromises, and tries to allow himself some rest bite in-between.

Turning a corner, he freezes, his joints stiffening tightly.

There is a car at the end of the road again.

Long, sleek, and wildly out of place this side of town, the darkened windows make it impossible to see who is behind the steering wheel. Of course, the moment Five rounds the corner is starts up and reverses out the road, speeding away into the rest of the traffic, but the important things is that it was there again.

Something wiggles under his sternum, uncomfortable and anxious, and Five forces himself to swallow it down as he takes the quicker route home, not bothering to walk through the park as he sometimes does to kill time before Dad finishes his shift.

Uncle Ben tried to prod the information out of him last night, promising that it could stay between them if he wanted, but Five had simply shrugged it off, because Dad and Uncle Ben are stressed enough as it is, about money and food and clothes and the upcoming school trip, and it is only Five’s paranoia that is keeping him nervous.

It is just…That car always seems to be around, and every time Five spots it, whoever is driving takes off.

Creepy does not even cover it.

He nearly had a heart attack last night when a vehicle pulled up before Dad got back. After living in their apartment for most of his life, Five is well acquainted with the cars the other tenants drive and that was most certainly not one of them.

After closer inspection, he realised that they were different models, and then his Dad climbed out and that was that.  
So, it is back to the proverbial drawing board.

Five has no need for a door key, simply jumping from the bottom of the stairwell into his bedroom. Uncle Ben is here somewhere, because he normally joins Five on the nights when Dad works until dinner, just so there is someone else around. Even if they cannot properly talk to one another, they manage.

“Hi, Uncle Ben.” He greets the open air, pulling his tie loose and shrugging off the blazer, hanging it up in his box of a wardrobe. “Hope you’re ok.”

He does not get an answer, but Five knows he is there, nonetheless. A lifetime of having a ghost as an Uncle has made Five proficient in the art of the one-sided conversation.

Stretching out the kinks of his spine, Five toes off his shoes and sets them down beside his bed before heading off towards the main living room with his bag.

“I’ve got maths homework tonight. It won’t take me long, though. Miss Gillian insists I do the same as everyone else, even though I’ve _told her_ I can do this in my sleep.” It is beginning to get frustrating now, because when she does not let him try the harder stuff, Five gets bored, and when he gets bored, he gets snappy and sarcastic.

Dad really does not need another trip to the Principal’s office because Five cannot hold his temper.

Dumping his bag beside the table, he opens the fridge and takes out the sandwich Dad prepared earlier that morning. As usual, Dad forgot to wrap it up on the plate, so by now the bread has gone nice and hard, but Five is not all that picky. The worst come to the worst; he can just eat the cheese inside.

Sitting down, he flips open his work and textbooks, glaring at the algebra staring back at him, clicking his tongue the same time he clicks his pen. The questions are innocent enough, but also dull and tedious.

“We’re meant to show our workings out.” He tells Uncle Ben, who normally settles down onto the couch while Five studies. “But I do this far quicker in my head than when I’m writing. I think it’s something to do with my jumps.”

Five and maths had always gone side-by-side, which was ironic considering his name is a number. As far back as he is able to remember, he has simply just _got it_. 

Oh, two plus two equals four? Great. 

This is how percentages work? Awesome. 

I just worked something out which is far too hard for my age? Neat.

Apparently, a few months before he first jumped, he scribbled numbers all over the place. Five cannot recall this, he had only been _five_ , but if he had to hazard a guess on the cause it would probably be something along the lines of brain trying to understand his power.

If Five is forced to explain it in its simplest form, which he occasionally does for his Dad, jumping works on calculations.

These are not your everyday, sorting out the change from a note in a money exchange type of calculations. These are the calculations that bind space together, that keeps things whole and moving and functional. These are the types of calculations that astronauts longed for, because space travel really is something else when you can literally tear reality apart, dive through, and land exactly where you want on the other side.

The thing about space is, it has a buddy called _time_.

This is what Five has really become interested in.

“I keep meaning to ask,” He says in the direction of Uncle Ben. “Did you ever study anything about time travel as a kid? I know you learnt weird stuff. Dad said so.” Sticking the end of his pen into his mouth, Five chews on it thoughtfully. “I looked in the school library today, but all they had was fiction. Hopefully the city library will be better, I really don’t want to have to spend money if I can help it.”

Removing the pen from his mouth, because he knows Uncle Ben will be scolding him, Five takes a bite of his sandwich instead, nearly choking on how goddamn dry it is.

“Jesus!” Spluttering, he clambers over to the sink and fills a stray glass with water, chugging half of it down. “Ugh. Remind me to check these are wrapped in the morning.” 

He _would_ do his own, because he will thirteen in November and really he does not need his Dad making him food anymore, but apparently his choices of filling are unsatisfactory to his guardians, going by the looks of disgust, the outraged noises, and the hands waving him away from the kitchen counter.

Downstairs, music begins to play, a loud, heavy beat that make the crumbs on the floor dance about and the mold on the wall vibrate.

Five screws up his nose.

“Sometimes, I really wish you were the type of ghost who could haunt people other than Dad.” He comments towards the couch. “I’d pay to watch you scare the crap, uh, _life_ , out of them.”

It is going to be annoying to work with that racket, but Five has also done homework in the school canteen, and if he can survive that, then he can survive anything.

Unfortunately, none of this cannot save him from the boredom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you imagine a snarky Five in your class? A nightmare for teachers everywhere!
> 
> [Tumblr](https://ancientstone.tumblr.com/)


	7. 17th July 2009

****

**17th July 2009**

“I can do it!”

“You sure?”

“Uh-huh!” Holding out his hands, Five dutifully takes the suitcase from Klaus with a steely determination that is far too amusing on a near four-year-old. He staggers a bit, but true to his word manages to keep hold of the suitcase as Klaus unpacks the rest of the things from the taxi.

Admittedly, there is not much he has to unpack, and Five will probably end up abandoning the suitcase somewhere on the stairs, but at least he has a mini helper for the moment.

“We need to get another camera, pronto.” Ben comments from somewhere behind him. “He’s too cute.”

Klaus hefts a box into his arms, hooking the duffle bag over his shoulder as he does before briefly balancing everything to slam the trunk shut. Knocking the side of the car with his foot, the taxi driver waves once and takes off to overcharge someone else.

As his eyes scan a second box still on the sidewalk, Klaus comments, “I never took you for a doting uncle.”

“My own brother doesn’t even know me. You’re terrible and I hate you.”

“Five, buddy,” Ignoring the pouting toddler whose afterlife he has been lumbered with, Klaus nods towards the box. “Could you push that inside for me? Just to the bottom of the stairs. We don’t want to leave it out here.”

Five blinks at it, and then back up at him. “Why?”

The box in his arms is stupidly heavy. “Because someone might take it.”

“Why would they do that? It’s not theirs.”

Muttering a soft, “Oh, Jesus…” Under his breath, Klaus walks forward, the duffle bag slipping off his shoulder to hang around his elbow, and kicks the box with his foot. “Never mind, Hawaii Five-O, I’ve got it.”

Five toddles beside him, watching unhelpfully. He is already losing his grip on the suitcase, which is a flimsy thing made of cheap fabric, and the bottom scrapes along the floor in a way that makes Klaus wince.

Ben wanders ahead of him to lean against the wall. “You realise the door is locked, right?”

“Goddamn, seriously?”

There is a small gasp. “Bad word!”

Flinching, Klaus sends a wavering grin at Five. “Uh-oh! I’ll put the money in the money pot later, alright? Now, can you do me a favour?”

“What kind of favour?”

“Can you reach inside my pocket and get my keys?”

The suitcase promptly drops to the floor as Five shuffles over and stands up on his toes, reaching into his coat with his tongue sticking out.

“Camera.” Ben says. “Pronto.”

Klaus is about to reply when Five makes a triumphant noise, and quickly switches to praising, “Great job! Now, can you find the red key?”

“Red key?” Five repeats slowly, staring at the ring of keys in his hand. Klaus has already forgotten what half of them are, but Ben was with him when the landlord handed them over, so hopefully someone in their family will know.

“Yep, red. Do you remember what colour red is?” If he is forced to wait for much longer, Klaus is going to drop the goddamn box. 

Five immediately responds with an indignant, “Yes.” 

It still takes him two minutes, but Klaus doesn’t have the energy to deal with a stroppy kid for pointing that out. For as much as he adores Five, his son never does anything by halves, and if he gets it in his head to a brat, then that is _it_ for the rest of the day.

In the meantime, Ben vanishes through the walls, reappearing a few moments later as Five shakily tries to slot the key into the keyhole.

“Orgy woman’s called Mrs Keller, but she’s not too chatty.” He supplies, stumbling a bit as he phases through Five on his way out. “Also, I think there’s a ghost rat? I looked at me, and then vanished. Could have been the lighting, though.”

Klaus nods. “Ghost ra-” Ben cuts him off by clearing his throat loudly, deliberately pointing to Five, who is watching him, the door now slightly cracked open.

Ah. Right.

Five hates rats.

He redirects rapidly, “Go, go, gadget!” Hitting the door fully open with his hip, Klaus steps inside and dumps the box down in the hallway. Five staggers in after him, back to dragging the suitcase.

It takes Klaus two trips up and down the stairs, and a lot of stop-starting on Five’s part because whoever put in the steps made them a bit too high for a young child, but eventually they manage to get all their worldly possessions into the pre-furnished apartment.

“There’s no bugs.” Five comments, matter-of-factly and unaware of how it makes Klaus’ chest tighten and Ben’s smile turn sad. He stares around the living room, turning in a small circle, before wandering over to the window and peering out. “It’s high.”

Joining him, Klaus rests his hands on Five’s shoulders, giving them a gentle squeeze. “It sure is.”

“I like it.”

“Yeah?”

“It’s better than before.” He glances up at Klaus, tilting his head back. “Are there ghosts here?”

Telling Five about his ability was not an easy decision. After all, who in their right mind would want to explain to a child barely older than a toddler the concepts of death and haunting? He and Ben had gone back and forth over the topic multiple times when Five was a baby, weighing the pros and cons and their equal amount of repercussions.

Eventually, they relented over two facts. 

The first was that they both wanted Five to know Ben, and to have a relationship with his Uncle even if they could not talk directly. Klaus was not cruel enough to ever deny this, especially when, a year after leaving home, he realised he could make his brother visible to the living.

The second was the fact that Klaus was completely unable to ignore some of the louder phantoms. When Five had been in that middling stage between baby and toddler, beginning to pick up social cues and follow language better, they had both seen him observe Klaus as he tried to shoo away any particularly persistent ghosts.

So, they told him, sat together with Ben glowing at his side, which was lucky because there were some questions Klaus could never fathom an answer to, but his brother seemed able to at a drop of a hat.

The last few places they had lived and been terrible for phantoms, and Klaus was never more thankful than when Five would look at him, go, “Oh…” in that soft way, and then turn up the TV, or find his headphones, or cuddle against him and practice his reading.

This, however, was one of those negatives.

Snickering, Ben crosses his arms and raises his eyebrows at Klaus. “Oh boy, good luck with that.”

“Um, well…” Kneeling so Five doesn’t have to strain his neck to look at him, Klaus runs a hand through Five’s hair. “So far I’ve only seen one. Her name’s Mrs Keller, and she, uh, she was…”

“A sex maniac?” Ben offers with far too much enthusiasm.

“Active.” Klaus settles on.

“Like a runner?”

“Yes. Exactly like a runner.”

“She wears tight clothing; I’ll give you that.” Comes the delightful voice of Ben, pitched in that funny way he used to as kids and he had been indulged with a juicy piece of gossip. “A bit less lycra and a bit more-”

Klaus claps his hands, which makes Five jump. “Right! Let’s get unpacking, yeah? Which room do you want?”

“Room?” Five fiddles with the hem of his sweater, and Klaus quietly stops him from pulling at a thread and unravelling the seam. “I get a room?”

“Yep, a whole room for you to sleep in!”

“Will I still sleep with you?”

Here comes the next hurdle of the day, getting Five used to the idea of sleeping on his own, something Klaus never dared to do in their old place, even if he did have Ben watching over them.

If he had any foresight whatsoever, Klaus would have gotten Five used to the idea beforehand, made it an adventure, or another ‘big boy’ milestone. Instead he had been so focused on getting them out and away from the area they had found themselves that everything else had just slipped his mind.

This will just have to be the bed he lies in. Hopefully, without a little body curled into his side.

It still takes Klaus and Ben half an hour to stop Five crying and convince him that they do still love him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little Five is a precious, snarky little thing and I would give my life for him
> 
> [Tumblr](https://ancientstone.tumblr.com/)


	8. 28th September 2018

****

**28th September 2018**

A strange thing about parenthood is that you develop another sense.

Ben calls it his Dad-dar, which Klaus thinks is a terrible name, but it also sums it up perfectly, because ever since the arrival of Five in his life, Klaus has been homed in on his son. 

More times than he can count, Klaus has caught him just before he trips, or noticed that Five is coming down sick, or picked up on the way their apartment would turn quiet and still, telling him that Five was getting into something he shouldn’t.

It also means he knows his son’s moods, as random as they are. 

Five is a pragmatist, he always has been, and Klaus is half convinced that the term ‘stiff upper lip’ has nothing to do with the British and everything to do with his child. Maybe there is a bit of English blood in him somewhere, though Klaus wouldn’t know; he never met his real family and has only spoken to Five’s mother twice.

Either way, Five doesn’t like to wear his heart on his sleeve. Given the option, Five would be more than happy to let everyone in the world think he was some stand-offish grump with an ego problem.

Klaus doesn’t let that happen, however, because Klaus _knows_ his son.

Five is sensitive. 

He may not show it, but ever since he was young, Five has absorbed absolutely everything said to him and about him, the good and the bad, and carried it wherever he goes. Parent-teacher conferences were a nightmare until Five was old enough to be left home alone, because if Klaus couldn’t find a sitter, then he had to take Five along with him, fully aware that he would sit there soaking everything in like a sponge.

The constant need to better himself was probably sparked from spending his young life moving from place to place, watching Klaus work hard to bring in income and relying on thrift stores and charities to supply them with clothes, toiletries, and everyday supplies.

In some ways this was fine, because it meant Five strived to do well in school and aimed to study far above his age range, but in many others it isolated him from his peers, made him get snappish and bored in classes because he was too advanced for their lessons, and Klaus has to constantly check that fault of arrogance that runs throughout his core.

Which is why he is so pleased to be in tune to Five’s emotions. 

Klaus almost has it down as a craft, predicting what Five is feeling, what he is burying away or lacking the words for. It is probably why they have such a good relationship, because he picks up on these things and makes sure to take the time to listen, to work things out and to understand, to do everything Reggie never did for him.

Having a ghost brother on hand to spot the things he misses is a bonus other parents don’t get to have.

It is this same Dad-dar sense that makes Klaus pause before he crosses the road to their apartment, which in turn makes Ben stumble through him with a little, “Eep!” noise that he would have teased as cute and worth teasing in any other situation.

“What?”

“Our lights are off.”

Following his gaze, Ben frowns at their windows. “Huh.”

He is not home late, and although it’s turned dark, he is running early. That was why Ben had stuck with him after work, ambling along to give Klaus a bit of company instead of joining Five. While he didn’t say it, Klaus suspected it had something to do with Diego’s warning the other night.

Crossing the road quickly, Klaus climbs the stairs to the apartment a bit too fast to be considered calm, an unknown energy spurring him on as he approaches their door, keys already in hand.

“Five?” He calls as he enters, trying to keep his tone controlled in case Five is simply having a nap or something. There is not a lick of light inside their living room, nor is there any coming from Five’s bedroom or the bathroom. He flicks them on. “Five, you here?”

“He’s not in his room.” Ben reports, already wafting through into the bathroom, reappearing moments later and shaking his head.

Klaus’ bedroom turns up empty as well.

“Perhaps he went to the library?”

“Without leaving a note?” Ben counters, moving for the door. “I’m going to check the other apartments; you ring the school.”

Something twists in Klaus’ gut, something that squirms with a gross paranoia, because Ben is right, Five always leaves a note. He is the type of kid who does when he pops down to get the mail while Klaus is in the shower. During the days when Five works on projects with other kids from school and must run between their houses, the bin almost overflows with used post-its.

The phone number goes straight to voicemail, and if that is not an indicator that there’s no one at the school then Klaus doesn’t know what is.

When Ben returns, his face is pinched. “Nothing?”

“No, you?”

“He’s not in any of the apartments.”

Ben has had this look before, years ago when Five was about six, still young and still navigating the extend of his powers. Klaus had sent Five to grab some eggs during their weekly shop, because Five was growing and he was trying to give him a little free rein, when a group of rowdy teenagers bashed into one of the shelves and the whole thing nearly fell on top of Five. 

Nearly, because Five jumped on instinct before it could hit him.

But then Klaus couldn’t find Five.

For _hours_.

Glancing around the room, Ben adds, “His bag’s not here, either.” 

Meaning Five hasn’t even been home yet.

Fuck, where is he?

“Ok, _shit,_ ok…” Klaus hums, his hands moving without thought to push through his hair.

“Don’t panic,” Ben presses, moving to catch his eyes as they threaten to glaze over, “Try to think, did he say anything this morning?”

“Um…” Gnawing at his lip, Klaus blinks and turns towards the fridge, opening it. “I made him his snack, which is still here. Ben, it’s still _here,_ he hasn’t-”

Ben is at his side. “Calm down, did you talk about anything? Did he say he was going somewhere?”

“No, no we talked about the weather, and homework.”

“Right, right.” There is a small edge to Ben’s voice, one that makes all sorts of things jump about Klaus’ chest. After a beat, Ben fixes him with a look. “Here’s what we’re going to do. I’m going to check the library; you check the park. I’ll meet up with you.”

“What if he comes back while we’re out?”

“I’ll make sure he hasn’t first.”

Klaus breathes weakly, nodding and croaking out, “Alright.” 

Despite that fact that it is anything but. 

Something buzzes in the back of his skull, something that makes him dizzy, nauseated, a deep-rooted fear sinking between his veins like a foul, injected drug. 

Ben purses his lips. “We _will_ find him, Klaus. I promise.”

Klaus tries to believe him.

He _really_ tries.

But Five is not at the park.

Nor is he at the library.

Nor does he come home while they are out searching, at which point full on panic starts to take over. 

They check every diner their area, every food stop and burger van they come across. Ben flickers back and forth between Klaus and home, each time arriving with a deeper frown and a darker gaze. 

When they run out of places locally, they expand their search into a wider area, until soon they’re miles from the apartment, trying to think of every possibly place Five could have blinked into.

It is when even those come up blank that Klaus starts running, only half paying attention to Ben as he skips between buildings, bars, clubs, anything a near thirteen-year-old could be coaxed into, or tempted, or _dragged_.

More than one old dealer crosses their path, greeting him with familiar words and half-hearted teasing. Klaus nearly bumps into Roger, who still works on the corner outside an old parking lot, _does_ bump into Marie in the underpass, and all but trips over Mustang who’s still doing his homeless man stint.

Maybe it’s the fact that Klaus used to be a well known and somewhat respected client, but they all agree to let him know if Five comes their way.

By the time Klaus staggers to one side of the sidewalk, bending over double with his hands on his knees, trying to fucking _breathe,_ the night has become late.

Five, his _son_ , has been missing for hours, and they are no closer to finding him that when they started.

“Shit…” He pants, the cold, harsh night air scraping against the skin of his throat. Klaus squeezes his eyes tightly shut, trying to bring some sense to his racing thoughts. Sweat covers his body, his muscles protesting the sudden bout of exercise. “Shit, Ben, I don’t-”

“Klaus.” Ben says, and it is with a weight that instantly snatches his attention. Head snapping up, Klaus follows Ben’s gaze towards the shop window.

Sat on a shelf, harmless and half price, are three Umbrella Academy comic books.

Something dries up inside him, rotten and festered like a withering flower dying, crumbling away into fine dust. His knees buckle without any control as he sways forward against the glass, eyes solely locked onto the little doodles of his own childhood face.

Klaus has no air to speak. “He wouldn’t…”

Five is smart, amazingly so, and he well and truly knows never to go near that place. Klaus has been careful in censoring himself on his experiences there, but he told Five enough to get the point across. Reginald Hargreeves was a sick bastard through and through, and if he ever caught a whiff of Five's whereabouts, his potential, his _powers_ , then he would, in complete likelihood, try to take Five away. 

The man _brought_ seven babies, having the gall to describe to the press how their mothers were, “Suitably compensated.” It was as if children were objects to be bargained and sold, put on display for people to pick and choose like candy.

Klaus could _never_ do that to his son. Sure, he had been seventeen when it happened, so impossibly out of his depth when Five was first presented to him that it was almost funny, but letting a stranger take him away? Getting _paid_ to do it? 

What the fuck did someone do with that kind of money, go to the zoo? Get a grocery shop? Here, let me pay for my marshmallows, miss, I got this money in exchange for my infant.

“He wouldn’t…” Klaus gulps around the wedge in his throat, weak and exhausted and _scared_. “He wouldn’t go there. _Why_ would he go there? I know…I know he’s been thinking about his powers a lot, but we were gonna help him, we _are_ helping him, why-”

“You’re right, he wouldn’t go there.” Ben cuts in, and at the deathly stillness of his tone Klaus turns, his mind already knowing where Ben is taking this even if his heart is desperately screeching at him not to listen. Their eyes lock. Ben shakes his head. “He wouldn’t go there. Not willingly.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look, as much as I would like to just write cute, fluffy chapters for this fic, ultimately these stories do need a plot, otherwise they risk going nowhere and running out of material. So, tada! Plot!
> 
> [Tumblr](https://ancientstone.tumblr.com/)


	9. 28th September 2018

****

**28th September 2018**

When Five comes to, he is greeted by the fuzzy image of a blond-haired woman leaning down in front of him.

Without thinking, he jerks back, sucking in a breath as a wave of dizziness decides to swirl his brain, his teeth clenching at the throb sensation blooming from the back of his skull. The woman meets his slightly fuzzy gaze, her perfect bright red lipstick tilting into something pleasant, and she retracts her hand from its place on the side of his neck.

“It’s just a little bump on the head.” She reports, her voice sweet and light, and Five is unsure whether she is talking to him or someone else. “It may be tender for a while, but he will make a full recovery. The scar will also heal.”

There is a dull stinging sensation on his skin, on the space between his neck and his back, and Five’s fingers twitch to itch at it.

Smiling as if pleased with herself, she steps back, clasping her hands together at her front.

Blinking through the fog, his mind trying to catch up with what he is seeing, Five watches the woman as his vision slowly melts into focus. Odd shapes in the edge of his sight gradually morph into the dark corners of a room, and the strange swirls contort into the patterning of red and grey bricks along the wall. 

He is in a room with a random woman.

He _had_ been on his way home from school.

There is a headache making itself comfortable in his skull.

Despite the pain, the fluffiness wedged inside his mind, the whirling of confusion that spins around him, Five has always been sharp, as unwavering as a bullet and just as quick, and, like a sudden snap of fingers, realisation claps across Five’s brain.

He is immediately awake, eyes darting around the enclosed space with a rapid speed, processing, analysing, concealing the rising panic slowly clawing up his throat.

A lone yellow light hums directly above him, flickering every few seconds as if it has spent years turned off, and directly opposite, behind the woman, is a long window that stretches across most of the wall, halted only by a thick metal door. Through the window is another room, and Five can just make out a series of levers and buttons beyond. Numerous wires sprout from the walls, running along the ground in a mess of red and yellow and blue to wrap around the legs of the chair, the raw ends exposed from the encasing colour.

Around the legs of the chair that that Five is sat in.

The cold, metal chair that Five is not only sat in, but confined to.

He is _literally_ locked into it, thick metal straps bolted over his wrists, ankles, and around his stomach, tightly securing him with enough strength that Five is sure he will soon start losing circulation to his hands and feet if he remains within its bounds for too long.

Someone has grabbed him on his way home from school and strapped him into a chair.

Bile rises in his throat, acidic and disgusting, burning away at his insides as Five forces his body to shift, testing the strength of the straps. Absolutely nothing gives under the force, and he can barely lift his hand without his bones protesting under the strain.

Shoulders hitching with a somewhat jerky impression of a breath, Five curls his fists as closed as he is able, sucking in dusty-tasting air and pulling with as much power as he can physically manage. He feels something lurch, reaching, lunging, _striving_ for the tear he has used so many times. Blue warps, rippling like a disturbed tidal pool, pressing as if he was leaning against the material of the universe, but just as quickly it flickers out with a pathetic blink, as if his years of experience were nothing more than a few unnoticeable accidents.

“What…What the hell?” Panting, sweat starts to form across his forehead and a deep, painful bolt of fear slices its way through his core. He looks to the woman, seeking her warm gaze. “What’s going on? Where am I? Where’s my Dad?”

“Number Four is not here.” A voice replies from the doorway, and it takes a full three seconds for Five to realise he is looking at Sir Reginald Hargreeves, his Dad’s adopted father and his grandfather. “Nor will he be joining us. Grace, you may leave.”

“Of course, Sir.” She smiles, and trots away, not once looking back as Reginald steps forward. Five can hear her heels tapping in a long corridor beyond, not faltering in the slightest.

Striding towards him, Reginald starts, “Your father has been a great disappointment. Not only did he abandon his place in the Umbrella Academy, but he has utterly failed to provide you with the proper training of someone in your position.”

“Someone in my…” Five echoes weakly, nausea threatening to spill. “I…I don’t know what you’re talking about. Just let me go, please? I want to go home. Dad will be worried, and I-”

“The Umbrella Academy is your home, Number Five.” Walking with a confidence that makes Five shrink back into the chair, the man looms over him, eyes hard and judging as they scan him over, a deep scowl marring his forehead.

“No…” Five starts, but then swallows, willing a harder emotion into his tone and trying again. He is somewhat successful, though the growl has a slight squeak to it. “ _No_ , it’s not.”

“Number Five!” The shout and accompanied clap are enough to startle him, the noise reverberating around the room. The aching pulse at the back of his head flares with the sound, ringing in his ears, and at his jerked movement the pain on the back of his neck twinges. “You shall accept this and move on. You are weak, and if Number Four was so displeasing then you would understand the responsibility you have.”

He cannot help the flare that ignites in his stomach. “Don’t…Don’t talk about my Dad that way!”

Taking a device from his pocket, Reginald holds it up to Five, examining it while talking almost blasé, as if discussing the weather. “Number Four lacks the vision to truly unlock his potential. You, on the other hand, may get somewhere.”

The rapid tone switch from yelling to neutral is enough to make Five blink, his voice taking a few attempts to get working again.

“What is that?” Glancing between Reginald and the device, Five tries to glare, but there is a weakness to it, something vulnerable and tiny, and Five knows that Reginald sees it as well. His wrists struggle under the straps. The back of his neck hurts. “What are you doing?”

“Consider this your new training, Number Five.” Reginald says, “Seeing as Number Four has utterly failed to teach you anything of merit, we shall have to start simply. I can only hope that by the time we need your strength to count, you are capable.”

“By the time you need me?” Five repeats, uncomprehending in a way that makes his skin itch. His hair has fallen slightly dishevelled, and he peers up through the strands that wisp across his forehead, nearly in his eyes. 

Reginald adjusts his monocle, taking out a pocket watch and regarding the time coolly. “I am not in the habit of repeating myself. Do not make me.”

“ _Please_ ,” Five croaks, hating the pleading tone he has adopted, but not caring enough to do anything about it. “Dad will get home to find me gone, he’s going to-”

“Number Four has spoiled you.” Speaking straight across Five, Reginald slides his watch away and lifts his head. “You are arrogant, greedy, we cannot allow such repulsions to fester any longer.”

“It’s not greedy to want to go home! You’ve kidnapped me! Let me go! You’ve got no right to keep me-”

“Enough!” Once more, Reginald claps loudly, and Five ducks his head down as if waiting to be hit, words dying in his throat. Clearing his voice, Reginald continues, levelled but firm. “I have given you a tracker to mark your progress. You _will not_ remove this tracker.”

Legs straining against their confines, Five blinks up at Reginald. “Tracker? What tracker? Why-”

“We are on a limited time frame, so we need to accomplish much as quickly as possible.” Looking towards his device again, he narrows his eyes. “You must learn the element of escape. You are of no use to anyone if you allow yourself to be captured and useless. Additionally, you have confined yourself to a very limited spectrum of distance. This will not do with the impending fate of the world. You will need to learn to travel far, across countries and continents, to trap, surprise, and attack your foe.”

Five feels breathless, weightless, a new wave of concern filling his veins. “But…But I can’t do that? I need energy, and rest, and-”

“What you _need_ ,” Reginald interrupts, “Is the correct stimuli.”

In this moment, Five understands.

Slowly, his gaze trails down to the floor, to the wires and their exposed ends looped around the metal chair, to the window looking into the room but protecting those behind, to the straps so tight he can barely feel his fingers.

“You’re going to electrocute me.” He states, voice distant to his own ears. Five swallows, his mouth suddenly parched, his Adam’s apple, still forming with boyhood, bobbing in his throat. “What tracker?”

“That is unimportant.” Reginald waves off, turning sharply on his heel and marching towards the door. “The aim of this exercise is to kill two birds with one stone. Free yourself from the confines and travel as far as possible, and then return straight back here. I will know if you do not. Do not disappoint.”

“W-Wait!” Five yells after him, his wrist and ankles rolling and struggling and shifting, “I don’t want to-”

The door slams shut, the hinges squeaking piercingly like a sharp wail, the lock clunking with the weight of heavy mechanics. Five can only stare, his protests falling on tuned out ears, at the man who is supposed to be his family putting down the device, setting out a journal, and turning a dial. Reginald glances towards him, before pressing a flashing button.

After that, Five does not see Sir Reginald any more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey…Hey guys…Did you know that…I rarely write fluff…That I mainly work with feels…And this story? It’s no different.
> 
> I’ve had everything mapped out since the beginning and have just been biding my time for the right moment.
> 
> [Tumblr](https://ancientstone.tumblr.com/)


	10. 28th September 2018

****

**28th September 2018**

“He can’t be here, he can’t be here, he can’t be here…”

It’s as if Klaus has become a stuck record, muttering and stammering his mantra over and over and over again, searing the words into his tongue like a permanent piercing. He is still in his work uniform, the shirt of which sticks to his back with sweat from his dash across the city.

The gates squeak open, and door clicking noisily as Klaus turns the handle, his palm sticking to the metal as he steps into the lobby of his childhood.

“Fuck…”

Nothing has changed. Not in the nostalgic, rose-tinted way most adults suffer when looking back at the places they used to know, but _literally_ , not a single goddamn thing has changed about the house. Even where the dust settles is how Klaus remembers, disappearing into the nooks and crannies that his senses recall even if his mind doesn’t.

Beside him, Ben seems to inwardly recoil, his face too perturbed to be a sneer yet nearly there.

Of course, they left the same year Ben died.

Klaus had been too high for the months that followed for his brother to get through to him, and it was only the shock of Five’s mother appearing on their doorstep to drop Five off that gave his body the chance to get sober enough for him to appear. There had barely been three weeks between that and them leaving, not nearly long enough for Ben to get used to being back at the academy.

Klaus might just vomit.

“I…Where do we even loo-”

“Master Klaus,” A calming voice says from the doorway of the main living room, making them both startle. The aging chimpanzee leans on his cane, the wood creaking a little under the weight. “It has been a few years since we last saw you here.”

“Ask him about Five.” Ben instantly insists, snapping out of his daze to fix Pogo with a sharp look.

Klaus tries, but he cannot escape Pogo’s gaze, and all that decides to come out being a pitched, “Yes.”

Ben glares at him. “Klaus!”

“Was your father expecting your visit?” Wandering over, Pogo tilts his head, and Klaus is suddenly struck by how much he has grown in the near thirteen years he has been away. The last time he chatted with Pogo, he was not looking down nearly as much.

“My…” With a delayed blink, Klaus jolts back into the present, waving a hand as he stammers, “No, _God_ no. Is he here? I don’t want to see him. I just need to check something. I’m probably wrong. I _hope_ I’m wrong. But-”

“Is there something that Grace and I can be of service with?”

“Is Five here?” Klaus blurts, a tinge of desperation edging his words. “Like, in the academy? He’s probably not, I don’t see why he would be, but is here? Have you seen him here at all?”

Pogo works his lips in that weird way chimps do. “Assuming we are talking in relation to your son and not your brother, I have not seen Number Five since he was an infant.”

“Do…Do you need a picture? I’ve got one in my wallet, hang on.” Patting his body down, Klaus grapples through his pockets, distracted thoughts marring his attempts to remember where he stored it. “One sec, j-just hang on.”

Ben had left Klaus’ side, heading off in the direction of the kitchen.

“I am surprised you kept the name.” Pogo comments, watching with keen eyes as Klaus struggles not to send his loose change flying as he yanks his wallet open. “I was rather under the impression you did not approve of it.”

“Yeah, uh-huh.” Not fully listening but nodding anyway, Klaus holds out the picture, practically shoving it into Pogo’s face. 

The image of Klaus and Five grin up at the academy ceiling. It is a recent photograph; one Klaus managed to convince the waitress at Griddy’s to take when they went to celebrate Father’s Day. Klaus has his arm looped around Five’s shoulders, beaming as Five smiles politely if awkwardly. The card he gave Klaus sits flat on the table in front of him, as well as the novelty keyring.

Pogo takes the wallet thoughtfully, a beat of silence passing between them before he hands it back.

“He has grown into a handsome young man.” He comments.

Emerging from the kitchen, Ben quickly makes his way up the stairs.

“Yeah, he has, but have you seen him?”

“Master Klaus, I doubt Number Five would journey here.”

There is a snap of something within Klaus’ chest, one that tugs at him deeply, a gut-wrenching sensation of being _lied_ to wiggling in his stomach. “That isn’t a _no_.”

Pogo pulls a face, the same expression he used to give when he believed that Klaus was being unreasonable. This unreasonableness apparently included not wanting to go on a mission at the top of a skyscraper, refusing to spar with Ben because he knew Ben was scared that he would hurt him, and the time when Klaus handcuffed himself to his bed to avoid training.

“If Number Five is anything like is father, then perhaps he has merely snuck out for the night. I know you gave us enough-”

“Pogo,” Klaus cuts in, and wow, Ben is right, he really _has_ mastered the Dad Voice. “Have you seen him?”

“I am not in the practice of having my word doubted.” Pogo replies, as unshakable as ever.

Slipping his wallet away, Klaus reiterates, “Yet again, I am not hearing a no.”

Ben has remerged from upstairs, but he hovers across the lobby away from them, tilting his head at an odd angle that is almost distracting, but Klaus ignores him in favour of continuing his slowly intensifying staring match with Pogo.

“Master Klaus, are you implying-”

“I dunno, do I have reason to?”

Jesus, if little Klaus could see him now, he would be having a fit. Pogo was, in so many ways, too much like Dad, and going up against him often felt as much. Yet here he is, talking back and talking over, a very small part of his revelling in seeing the chimp waver.

Then, there is a sharp intake. “Klaus,” Ben says, and Klaus can hear the realisation within it. He turns, locking eyes with Ben, who croaks, “I can hear Five.”

“What?” Abandoning Pogo, Klaus crosses the room. 

“Listen, listen,” Waving him quiet, Ben strains, squinting as they both fall silent, Klaus cursing the noise of his heart in his ears.

There, extremely faintly, only of the very cusp of his hearing, Klaus can just pick up the sound of screaming.

“Oh my God…”

“Master Klaus, I suggest you-”

“It’s coming from the basement!” Ben urges, and, completely ignoring Pogo hobbling after them, Klaus goes running for the elevator, slamming his hand on the button in rapid succession and diving inside as the doors ping open.

“Master Klaus, please wait a mom-” The doors shut on Pogo, and Klaus staggers back against the handrail circling the small space, the vibrations rattling up his bones as they tremble their way down beneath the academy. 

Klaus’ breathing pants, with exertion, fear, a lovely touch of hysteria. Ben paces around in front of him in hurried, frantic movements, one hand rubbing at his chest, kneading the heel of his palm against the clothes he is wearing, and with a jump of realisation Klaus is reminded that the beasts within Ben get riled with his emotions. It has been so long since they have made their presence known that Klaus had all but forgotten.

The elevator creaks to a halt, all motion falling still, and the doors slide across.

They enter what can only be described as Klaus’ personal Hell.

A long corridor stretches out before him, branching off in several directions and lit by a series of dim lightbulbs. They all periodically dip, making long shadows dance up the walls like dancing phantoms. From the very end of the hallway, as if this was all some terrible nightmare Klaus has been forced to watch play out, comes the pained yells of Five that no parent ever wants to hear.

“Five!” Klaus shouts without even realising, all but flying from the lift and taking off in a sprint down the corridor, his feet slamming loudly against the floor and Ben hot on his heels. “Five, where are you?”

There is a room in front of him, a white painted door half open, without a second thought Klaus slams his way through, staggering to a halt as he enters a small space. Buttons and dials and machines whir around him on consoles lining the walls, like something out of a bad sci-fi flick shown late at night, and his heart lurches into his throat as Reginald Hargreeves spins to face him, his expression murderous.

“Number Four!” The man snaps, marching towards him, “You are not-”

“Five!” Ben shouts, running through a desk and a windowed wall and reappearing the other side. 

Shoving his way passed his father, barely even noticing that they are practically the same height now, Klaus follows Ben’s focus, a pained, horrified noise escaping him.

Five sits slumped in a chair, breathing heavy and his eyes lidded with exhaustion. He has been bolted into the contraption, as if an experiment for a mad scientist to test as lightning flashes dramatically in the background, and despite being nowhere near Klaus can see Five visibly shaking, his hands fisted tightly in the characteristic way he does when he jumps.

All breath dies within him, wheezing a squeak that manifests into, “What the _fuck_ did you _do?”_

“What needed to be done.” Reginald counters, that same, disappointed, unsatisfied glare in his eyes. Klaus turns to him, watching with a rising panic. “You have completely failed to raise the child-”

“I’ve not failed at anything!” There is a determination to his voice he doesn’t recognise, a thudding in his ears that makes his mind summersault. It clearly is new to his father as well; whose shoulders stiffen just enough to tell Klaus he has been momentarily taken aback. “Did you fucking kidnap him? What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Klaus!” Ben shouts from the other side, commanding in a way Ben only gets when he’s panicked. “Leave him, we need to get Five _out_.”

“Right, right,” Nodding, Klaus spins on his heel, easily locating the metal door that connects this bizarre room to the one Five is trapped in. “Is he hurt?”

“Number Four-”

“I don’t think so, but he’s exhausted, I think he’s at his power limit.”

Slamming the door open with enough force to make it bounce off the wall with an almighty bang, making his father step back in his peripheral vision and Five startle into the chair, Klaus hurries across the small room and squats down in front of his son, trying to catch his drooping eyes.

“Hey, _hey_ , look at me, buddy.” Cupping Five’s face, Klaus pats it gently, trying to rouse his son in a better state of wakefulness. His cheek feels sweaty against his hand. “Dad’s here, your Dad’s here, and Uncle Ben, we’re going to get you out, ok?”

“Dad?” Five’s voice is hoarse, and Klaus struggles to keep his face under control.

“Yeah, I’m here, you’ll be ok.”

Glancing down at the metal straps locking his child into the chair, Klaus swallows, eyeing the screws keeping them in place. They look tight, enough that Klaus knows he won’t get them undone by hand. He would probably end up bending his keys if he tried to use those.

Reading his mind, Ben momentarily vanishes from their side, reappearing just as quick to report, “There’s a screwdriver in the other room, on the desk.” He kneels. “I’ll stay with Five.”

Nodding, Klaus stands, his joints cracking. “I’ll be right back, kiddo, Uncle Ben’s with you.”

“Ok…”

His father is waiting for him in the doorway.

“Move.” Klaus growls, storming up to the man with a sense of confidence he has never felt before. 

It was one thing to harm him as a child, it is another to hurt _Five_.

“I do not-”

“Don’t care.” Forcing himself passed Reginald, Klaus’ eyes lock onto the screwdriver, and he makes a beeline towards it.

His father catches his arm, snagging him around. “Number Four, you will not interrupt Number Five’s training!”

“Fuck off!” Klaus snarls, trying and failing to wrench himself from Reginald’s grip. “Let go of me! Let go!”

But his Dad doesn’t let go, not in the slightest, because as Klaus tries to pry one hand from him, digging his nails into the unwavering fingers keeping him in place, another grabs onto his shoulder, forcing Klaus to stumble back as Reginald shoves him against a wall, some of the dials of on the consoles digging into the skin of his back.

“Number Four,” Reginald says, firm and levelled but with an underlying anger, not at all bothered by Klaus’ increasingly desperate struggling. “Number Five’s training is too important. It is above everything you think you know. The end of the world is coming, we do not have _time_ -”

Klaus kicks him squarely in the stomach, as harsh and as powerful as he can manage, and Reginald staggers, the two of them sliding across the side of the wall as Klaus fights the clinging hands. Levers and cranks bash into his face, and Reginald’s grip is tight, squeezing his skin enough that Klaus has no doubts that he will sport bruises tomorrow.

“Number _Four!”_

“Let _go_ of me!”

“Klaus!” Ben is shouting, still in the other room but watching through the window.

Reginald tries to drag Klaus back, to draw him away from the room altogether, his muscles far stronger than anything Klaus has in his lanky body. 

The kick to the legs is unexpected, catching the older man off guard, and he goes toppling over onto Klaus, who vanishes under his sudden weight. Things crack and twist as they slam into the console, slipping down to land in a heap on the floor, the back of Klaus’ skull pounding against something hard and sending shooting stars across his vision.

The sound of buzzing static fills the air, the white whine of electricity powering up bouncing in the enclosed space like a building siren.

The scream from Five is instantaneous.

“Five!”

Klaus tries to struggle to his feet, tries to lung forward, tries to reach his _son_ , but his head is still spinning from the smack and there are arms wrapped securely around his middle and, with a cut off yelp that makes the pain in his head flair, he goes sprawling onto the ground, his jaw jolting from the impact and damn near biting his tongue in half.

“Listen to me!” Reginald demands over the yells of Five, “Don’t-”

“Klaus, Klaus manifest me!” Ben shouts desperately, dashing through the wall to hover over them. Even though Ben has never needed to breath in death, he pants now. “Klaus!”

Somehow, through the pulsing in his brain and the spots in his vision, Klaus does.

Reginald makes a noise, one that is unnerved, startled, taken completely by surprise, and Klaus cannot recall a time where he ever heard such a thing from the man he calls his father. Ben marches forward, reaching to tear the two apart, his glowing blue encasing the entire room.

No.

Klaus blinks slowly.

No, that is not where the blue is coming from.

It’s not coming from Ben at all.

It’s from _Five_.

Staggering to his feet, Klaus completely ignores the way his body sways, gaping at the other room, at the frantic, manic mess that beats and withers just beyond the glass. Ripples and tears and bright streaks of energy swirl as if an eye of a tornado, tangling space into a great surge that shrieks and snaps, the walls cracking from the force of it, the ground rumbling from beneath Klaus’ shoes.

His son, his near thirteen-year-old little boy, who Klaus swore to protect from the madness that was the Umbrella Academy, is trapped right in the heart of it, already pushed way too far beyond his limit and _frightened._

He cannot even _see_ Five.

“Oh God…” He wheezes, and for a moment Klaus cannot even feel his body. “Fuck… _Five_ …”

“Klaus!” Still visible, Ben darts across in front of him, frantically hovering over the broken console, cracked and indented from the impact of the fight. “We gotta turn it off, we need to-”

There is a pop, a sharp shriek of a thing, and with a flash that is barely blinding, even goes very, very still.

Swallowing, Klaus turns his head, sweat coating his skin and his eyes dragged wide.

The chair is empty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Looks around*
> 
> What, you think little old me, the person who did a ‘what’s your Greek muse’ quiz and got Melpomene, the muse of tragedy, would write a cute little fic about Dad Klaus and Kid Five?
> 
> (Sorry to all those who genuinely thought I would, but I’m afraid I have plans. Angsty, angsty plans.)
> 
> [Tumblr](https://ancientstone.tumblr.com/)


	11. 28th September 2018

****

**28th September 2018**

The chair is empty.

The _chair_ is _empty._

The chair, that previously held his son, is fucking _empty._

“Five?”

Klaus’ whisper is like a scream, shattering the silence in his ears as he, Ben, and Reginald all stare frozen into the other room. Cracks line the floor, cutting deep grooves into the ground as if tree roots have broken the concrete into jagged splits, and ashy scorch marks lick up the walls, slapping across the ceiling like vicious whip marks.

Ben stutters a breath, one he does not truly need, and Klaus barely flinches as the blue covering Ben flickers out with a pathetic splutter. Reginald glances across to what must now be an empty space for him, his intelligent, sharp gaze eyeing the apparent empty air.

The flicking out of Ben is apparently enough to break his father out of his shocked trance, and with a short sniffing noise the man adjusts himself, fixing his clothes before balling his hands into fists and marching across the room. Klaus startles at the movement, instinctively flinching back as Reginald scoops up some electronic device from where it has been knocked to the floor.

It is a small thing, but not overly so, and his father checks it over in his hands, looking for damage. There is a scuff mark on the underside, but no other damage done. Once satisfied, Reginald clicks something and frowns down at it, pressing a button a few times with increasing pressure. After a moment of no response, he hums lowly, smacking his tongue with obvious displeasure in the same way he used to do when Klaus or his siblings failed to complete whatever task he had set them for the day.

Klaus finally finds his voice, but as he pushes it out, all it can do is mutter a hushed, “What did you do?”

“ _I_ did nothing, Number Four.” Reginald replies curtly, jutting his chin out towards Klaus and narrowing his unyielding gaze. “ _You_ , however, increased the charge with your mindless nonsense-”

_“Nonsense?”_

“-Causing Number Five to overload.”

“Overload?” Ben repeats, glancing quickly between Klaus and Reginald. While his tone starts off quiet, distant, as dizzy as Klaus, it is quick to grow with tension. “What does he mean _overload?”_

Klaus croaks, barely daring to breathe, “What do you mean?”

Snatching up his red bound journal sat on the table and snapping it closed, his father barks, “Number Five’s abilities work by manipulating the fabric of space. You increase the power input, which _overwhelmed his body_ , and he was sucked from the world as a result.”

Reginald tosses the device towards Klaus, who fumbles to catch it. The metal encasing it is cool against his palms, and a screen displays a blank series of lines that means nothing to him.

His father continues. “I installed a tracker on Number Five beneath the skin, yet this tracker has not reappeared anywhere on the globe. It has vanished.”

Klaus’ legs are no longer there, or if they are, they have been turned feathers, or fluff, or leaves, any other number of stupid, weak things that offer no support as the floor tips beneath him. His back bangs into the console again, and this time it is the only thing keeping it upright.

Ben’s mouth hangs open, a thickly wet quality to his eyes. “Oh my _God_ …” He whispers, and Klaus’ entire chest twists, because Ben is following what Reginald is saying, and Klaus is three steps behind not wanting to catch up.

“W-What…” Klaus gulps down the lump choking his throat, his mouth moving without permission. “What you’re saying is-”

Reginald cuts in, losing patience. “Number Five was lost to fabric of reality. He would have been lucky to last more than a single second before he was ripped apart.”

_Ripped apart._

His little boy.

“No.” Shaking his head, a steely determination locks itself into Klaus’ body, his vision blurring. “No, there must be a way to get him, there’s must be _something_ we can do. I’m not leaving him there, he’s going to be scared, and c-cold.” Klaus’ voice jumps an octave without meaning to, pitching harshly high in his mouth. “Perhaps…Perhaps we can-”

“It’s too late, Number Four, the child is dead.” 

Ben stumbles, reaching out to steady himself as his knees buck against the table. Klaus’ vision hazes, smudging into swirling watercolours of flickering lights and flashing buttons, his grip on the device tightens, the skin of his fingers turning milky white from the force behind it.

“Dead…He’s can’t be…”

Klaus’ son, his baby, his mini genius who was smarter than any of them. His child who got bored in class because he was too advanced for his age and did his homework the night it was set in the hopes that he might be given something harder. Five, who liked math and peanut butter and marshmallow sandwiches, because he had a sharp mind and a sweet tooth that could never be sated. 

Five is dead.

Sinking to the ground, Klaus drops the device with a clatter, hands pushing into his hair and painfully raking through his locks. A shuddering sob shakes his body, jittering all the way done to the very marrow of his bones, and somewhere to his right he hears Ben make a noise.

What that noise is, he does not know nor care, because a knife as stuck him through the ribs, barbed and spiked and a long, wailing scream batters the inside of his skull.

He has failed.

He has failed his son and now Five is gone.

Klaus will never see him again. 

The thought hits him squarely in the stomach, winding him as he snaps his soaked gaze up at the rest of the room.

There is no body, no corpse Klaus can scoop into his arms and lay to rest, no white bones or ashen remains to collect and care for. 

Five is not _here._

Five died in the vacuum of space, who knows how many billions of miles away from his family, and Klaus will never be able to reach him, never be able to summon him back where he belongs, not at that distance, not if Five was _literally ripped apart._

He cannot even bring his little boy home.

Reginald speaks up, and despite not fully listening, Klaus can hear the strange, almost remorseful tone the man takes on. There is no _grief_ within it, nothing like the terrible, shuddering sensations Klaus is currently living through, but a tint of softness is there, nonetheless.

“If it’s any consolation, I find it a great shame.” He says, and Klaus drags his head up to stare at him. “Number Five would have been of great importance, when the time comes.”

Just because the tone is sombre, does not mean Reginald is.

“Of any…” Something hot burns in Klaus’ veins, as if pure fire had been poured straight into his body. “Of any _consolation?”_

“Number Five showed promising potential-”

“Don’t you fucking dare, don’t you _fucking dare!”_ Klaus is on his feet before he has time to realise it, the world swimming as he storms into Reginald’s face with a furiousness he didn’t know he possessed. “Don’t you _dare_ tell me it’s a _shame_ that my baby is dead!”

“Klaus!” Ben shouts, somewhere off to the side.

“Number Four!” Reginald demands, his face hardening. “Do not take that-”

The first stage of grief is denial, but Klaus has always been a pain in the ass, so he skips ahead to stage two.

He skips to anger.

Klaus shoves him, hard, and his father stumbles. “You killed him! You _killed him!”_

He shoves again, and then again, because it feels good, it feels dangerous, it feels as wild and scathing as Klaus’ emotions, as the whirlpool churning his stomach because _Five_ is _dead_. He will never come back, not like Ben, not like Mrs Keller, not like every other goddamn ghost Klaus has been forced to put up with his entire life.

The one time, _one time_ , when his powers really, truly mattered, and he can’t do a single thing.

Five didn’t even reach thirteen.

Hands latch onto his arms, holding him in place as he kicks and screams and claws. Ben is yelling, at him, at Reginald, at Pogo, but it’s far away, distant, as if a dream, and Klaus is barely aware that he is being dragged, restrained, flung about like a rag doll. 

None of it matters, none of it, because he will never get Five back.

_Five._

With little grace, Klaus is shoved out into the cold night air.

He lands heavily on the sidewalk, his head jerking from the impact as the sound of skin smacking pavement rings in his ears. His father looms above him, the doors and gates to the academy squeakily swinging. Further inside, Pogo and Mom hover, Pogo’s face unreadable and Mom’s tilting strangely.

Ben rushes out after them, kneeling beside Klaus and then glaring daggers up at their father, unseen and seething.

“You _motherfucking-”_

“Number Four.” Sir Reginald Hargreeves says smoothly, talking over the top of Ben and watching as his adopted son struggles to right himself onto his elbows, pain scraping up his arms and his face a mess of grieving tears. “You cannot even fathom my disappointment in you.”

With nothing else, no sneer, no looks of fury, no remorse, not a single stupid emotion for what he has done to his Klaus’ life, the man turns on his heel and returns into the academy, the door not only shutting but locking behind him.

Klaus sits on the sidewalk, blinking slowly up at his childhood home. His hands tremor, shivering from the cold, his rage, the loss of his child. Breathing is hard, air scraping like thousands of sharpened nails against the inside of his lungs, and the need to vomit slices through his guts like a swipe of a beast’s claw splitting him open.

“Klaus?” Ben’s face is as equally wet, his eyes quick at scanning his body for injuries. “Klaus? Are…” He trails off, swallowing heavily before simply repeating, all but a whisper, “Klaus?”

“Five’s dead.” Dragging his gaze from the door to Ben, Klaus’ face crumples. “Five’s dead, Ben, he’s _dead_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dances with my headphones on while everything behind me is set on fire
> 
> [Tumblr](https://ancientstone.tumblr.com/)


	12. 20th November 2013

****

**20th November 2013**

As much as Ben enjoys the company of Klaus, sometimes Klaus is…Well, _Klaus_ , and Ben needs a break.

Don’t get Ben wrong, he loves his brother, as he does all his siblings. Perhaps, quietly, even a little more, considering Ben watched Klaus go from a grieving child in an abusive household struggling with ghosts and addiction to a young, single, _sober_ parent juggling everything almost completely solo. 

He does amazing, putting Five before himself, constantly trying to better their situation, going from job to job despite not having any qualifications or experience, all so he could provide something for his son.

However, even when all this taken into consideration, Klaus is still Klaus, their annoying, eccentric, pain in the ass brother. As proud as Ben is of him, he still needs to get away from time to time.

So, he follows Five for the day instead.

Five loves it when he does, grinning in that overly wide way eight-year-olds do. It’s fascinating to watch him go about his school life, trailing after him through the canteen or sitting opposite at his desk as he works his way through their lessons. 

Ben never went to school, only experiencing the strict timetable set out by Dad and carried out by Mom and Pogo, so the trips are a bit of a novelty to him. When they first signed Five up, neither he nor Klaus had any idea what to expect, which was especially daunting when Five asked them questions, because they had to guess answers based on what they heard and saw on TV.

Jocks, nerds, bullies, all of it was foreign to them.

The lessons are nothing like the Academy’s. There are no bland lectures delivered to them via scratchy gramophone, or labelled instructions on how to gouge out other children’s eyes. Instead, they fill out worksheets and get put into teams, or do tests and quizzes in the name of fun.

His nephew doesn’t know any different, and Ben marvels as he goes about his life as a child his age should, carefree and young, without the weight of the world dumped on top of impossibly small shoulders.

Ben loves the days when he goes to school with Five.

Recently, Five picked up the funny little habit of muttering to himself, lowly and out of the range of anyone else around to hear. When he squats down beside Five, watching him logic himself through his questions, mumbling away as his thoughts spill out, Ben is sure that Five doesn’t even realise he is doing it, and delights in the small window into his brain.

Not that he can completely keep up with it, half the time.

This is not to say, however, that Five is completely in his element at school.

Five is pragmatic, something neither he nor Klaus can work out the origin of and just put down to the other side of the family, whoever they are. This pragmatism means that, while he excels amazingly in the sciences and maths subjects, when it comes to things such as English, or Religious Education, or any other less practical, more theoretical lessons, he has a harder time.

Five is not unempathetic, they both know that. He grew up with _Klaus_ , and Klaus doesn’t have an unempathetic bone in his body, but if a character in the book the class reads does something impulsive based on an emotional rather than practical response, Five struggles. 

It was a nightmare when he was younger and less willing to do his homework in favour of playing, because apparently writing about what makes characters happy and sad is _stupid_ and _boring_ and _why can’t the questions be like my math ones?_

He’s only eight, though, and Ben and Klaus are working on it. With a bit of practice, he’ll probably get there in no time. With how quickly Five picks things up, neither of them are too worried.

Anyway, they have the bonus of seeing Five when he isn’t in a class environment, and if anyone says he lacks empathy, then they were blind and deaf and morons, and Ben would be happy to fight them personally.

Now, it’s lunchtime, and Five has wandered off into the school library to browse the space section. 

As he is getting older, he is becoming more and more interested in how his powers work. It was only natural, considering Five’s personality, but school-grade textbooks are proving frustratingly simple for him. Ben has no doubts that Five will soon start searching for things more advanced, his grades are already reaching beyond his age range and his teachers are noting the way he whizzes through their tasks like fire to dry grass.

Pulling out a book on gravity and planets, Five absently flicks through the pages, nibbling at his lip as he gazes passed the bright pictures and studies the text more intently.

Perching himself on a nearby empty table, Ben watches him fondly.

“You’ve brought that one home twice already.” He comments, though Five can’t hear him. “I’m pretty sure you could recite it back to me if you wanted.”

Sighing to himself, Five slots the book back onto the shelf, and leans in to read the spines of the others, flicking through and obviously looking for new content. Grinning, Ben peers around the rest of the library. 

The weather is crisp but pleasant today, meaning that most of the kids have decided to run around outside instead of being cooped up in the stuffy school. A couple of girls are browsing the fiction section, pulling out random books and giggling amongst themselves, and two boys Five shares a PE class with hover around the _Guinness World Records_ books, snickering at all the weird entries. The librarian, an aging woman with grey tinted hair and tired eyes, keeps glancing at them over her round glasses, but ultimately decides they are harmless and leaves them to it.

She has probably put up with enough toilet humour to last her a lifetime.

Thank _Christ_ Five never got into that.

“Hey!”

The protest makes Ben’s head snap back around, his body immediately tensing as Five rakes his fingers through his hair, shaking out the crisp crumbs that have just been dumped over him by another boy. The boy is taller than Five, possibly from the year above, because Ben doesn’t immediately recognise him.

Standing, Ben hovers uselessly behind Five, glaring invisible daggers.

Seriously, who raised such brats?

With Five distracted in cleaning himself, the boy takes the opportunity to pluck a book from Five’s hands, reading over the title.

He hums, and then nods. “Thanks.”

“H-Hey, wait!” Stumbling after the boy as he turns to walk off, Five grabs onto the material of his sleeve, “That was mi-”  
“Tough.” The boy shrugs, jerking his arm violently and making Five’s grip slip. “It’s mine now.”

Then, rather uncharacteristically of Five’s personality, he backs off.

Out of all the things Ben expected Five to do, giving in to a bully was not one of them. He frowns, his raising anger settling into confusion as Five simply watches the boy go checkout his book and leave, his hands fiddling almost nervously.

“Five?” He asks, despite it being pointless.

Huffing something resigned, Five shakes his head again, dislodging the last of the crumbs, and somewhat sullenly goes back to the book shelf. He has missed one, which has fallen from his hair to sit on the back of his blazer collar. Ben winces at the sight of it, because Five will inevitably be embarrassed when it’s pointed out by some well-meaning kid.

This is new.

Five has never really dealt with bullies before. Apart from the usual toddler scuffles and four-year-old misunderstandings that happen with all kids no matter who they are or what temperament they possessed, since starting school Five has been one of those students happy to just float about by himself, neither actively taking part in any outside classroom activities but not completely isolating himself either from talking to others either.

It is something that has Klaus nervous. 

If Five _does_ start to advance as much as they predict, striving ahead of his peer group, then they run the risk of Five studying and _only_ studying. Trying to encourage him into sports and afterschool activities has so far been unsuccessful, but at the high school they plan on sending him to there is both a science and math club, so they have their fingers crossed for that.

What they don’t want is for Five to start seeing himself as being above his classmates, like Luther always lording the ‘Number One’ thing over them. Five is, admittedly, arrogant at times, and can be very bull-headed when he wants to be, it could be incredibly easy for him to slip into a streak of self-importance. 

So, if there is one thing that Five is not, it’s a pushover.

On the odd occasion a chid did something to upset him, Five was always great at sorting himself out. Unless Ben was there to witness it, half the time neither he nor Klaus would have any idea something happened to begin with. Five found it easy to talk back, to defend himself, and to threat going to teachers as and when he needed. He was rarely intimidated by mindless threats. Klaus would know, he had to be _very_ strict to follow up on warned punishments when Five was little.

Which is why Ben is so baffled.

What the kid did wasn’t even that bad. It was a simple argument, Ben had suffered far worse with his siblings growing up and Five has argued his corner in tenser situations, so why has he, almost willingly, gone along with some stupid brat barely a year older than him? He clearly wanted that book, and had claim to it, so why didn’t he do anything?

It is something that sits with Ben for the rest of the day, gnawing at him from the inside far too much like the creatures within him. It mars his mood, and he finds himself unable to laugh along with Five at some of the antics of the classroom, or snicker at his teacher’s face when Five hands in his homework and request more.

He waits until they get home.

“Klaus?”

“Hm?” Stood over the hobs, Klaus continues to batter his attempt at stir fry. The black bits are, apparently, part of the flavour. “What?”

“Can I talk to Five? Alone?”

Tilting his head, Klaus glances over to him. “Alone? What’s up?”

“It’s…” Ben trails off, and checks over to Five’s room, where his nephew has a set of headphones on and is working away at his geography homework. “It’s something I think might be handled better with me than you, no offence.”

Klaus, for as great a father as he is, can also be extremely clingy. This clinginess likes to manifest itself into a protective streak that Ben rarely ever saw in his brother before Five, but then again, Klaus was on drugs for so long it was hard to remember a time when he wasn’t high as a kite. 

This protectiveness probably comes from the reality of having something that was _his_ , something that Reginald could not touch nor spoil for Klaus, that he could he take away. Klaus was the same with Ben. Out of all the bad things in his life, Klaus finally had two things which were _good_ , and he was never going to allow anyone to take them away from him.

However, if Ben tattled everything to Klaus, not only would it knock Five’s trust in him, fearing that he was always being watched and reported on, but Klaus would go full swing into the situation and barge through Five’s reserved nature to find names and addresses.

If Ben wants to show Five that he could confide in him, it is best to keep this between them.

“Oh.” Klaus blinks at him, apparently blind to the smell of burning as some of the vegetables slowly meld into the pan. “Is something wrong? I could-”

“No, Klaus, let me deal with it.”

Glancing between Ben and Five’s door, Klaus nibbles his lip but nods, and Ben feels the usual pull of being summoned. Sending Klaus a thankful smile, he crosses over to Five’s room, letting himself in an closing the door behind him.

Five is stretched out on his bed on his front with his back to him, a geography textbook pushed up by his pillow as he slowly labels parts of a river. His feet kick in time with the music he is listening to, which Ben can vaguely hear. It’s one of Klaus’ tapes, he thinks.

Kneeling beside the bed, Five startles but brightens, reaching out for the tape player and hitting pause, before slipping off the headphones and sitting up.

“Hi, Uncle Ben!”

“Hey, Five.” Moving to perch on the bed with him, Ben starts easily with, “How’s it going?”

“Good.” Pushing his homework to one side, Five wiggles to give Ben more room. “You staying around for dinner?”

Ben shrugs, “Possibly, we’ll see how tired your Dad is. But there is something I want to talk to you about.”

“Ok?”

“What happened in the library today, buddy?”

Five’s face stiffens, and he glances away, his shoulders hunching. “Oh. I thought you were with Dad. Was Dad alright on his own?”

“Don’t change the subject, please.” The chastise is light, but it’s enough to make Five falter. “We can keep this between us if you want, but what happened? Why didn’t you try to get the book back, or tell the librarian?”

“I…” Five fidgets, worrying his lips together. “Um…”

All of this is so unlike Five. Putting an arm around his shoulder, Ben pulls him as close as he is able without pushing his materialisation to the limit.

“Hey, whatever it is, we can work it out, alright?”

“It’s just…” Five stares down at his feet, “The last time it happened, I tried to…I tried to get my bag back, and, um, I, uh, I…” He is getting smaller and smaller with every word.

“Five?” Ben prods gently.

“I jumped.” Five finally admits, slumping. “I didn’t mean to! Honestly! I just…My foot caught, and I tripped, and the next thing I knew I’m in the classroom. I thought, if I tried to get it back-”

“It would happen again.” Ben finishes, nodding in understanding. “I see.”

Five and his powers in public were a tricky tightrope to walk. 

On the one hand, they wanted to build Five’s confidence, and get him used to using them as he needed. They are a part of him, after all, even if Klaus and Ben despise their own with a passion.

Apart from Klaus being able to see Ben, of course.

On the other hand, they lived in the same city as the celebrated Umbrella Academy, and if their father caught wind of Five’s powers then all it would take is an accusation of Klaus being unable to care for his child and Reginald could sweep Five off before they knew it. He had the money and the resources, and nothing Klaus could scrape together could ever touch the lawyers and legal fees their father could sort on a whim.

Therefore, it was a choice between two evils. Either Five was banned from using his powers in public, or he was taken away.

It had been hard, but the option they chose is obvious.

Still, accidents can and have happened.

“Did they tell anyone?”

Five shakes his head. “No, I don’t think so. I think I managed to convince them that I ran away. It _was_ by a doorway, so…” He shrugs awkwardly.

Running a hand over Five’s hair as best he can, Ben sighs. “Did you not say anything because you thought we’d be mad?”

Five hums a noise of confirmation.

“Five, you didn’t mean to, we won’t be mad when it’s not on purpose. We went over this, yeah?” He leans to catch Five’s eyes. “How sometimes I summoned the things inside me when I didn’t mean to when I was little? We don’t mind when you do stuff by accident. Is it ideal? No. Should you try _not_ to? Yes. But we won’t get angry, I promise.”

“Sorry.”

“I’m more concerned about these people who think they can pick on you.”

“Don’t be.” Five says, sounding a little more like himself. “They’re just stupid. They know I’ll tell if they do anything really annoying.”

“Good, and _please_ stick up for yourself, Five. Don’t hold yourself back over what _might_ happen.” Ben encourages. “Please? You don’t deserve to be treated like that.”

Five wiggles in a way that tells Ben things are getting a bit too sappy for him. “Ok, I will.”

“Good boy.” They share a grin, and Ben prods him in the side, making Five chuckle. “If you ever need to talk, Dad and I will always be here.”

“Will you?” Five asks, but he says it in a teasing, ‘ _oh no, anything but that_ ’ way.

Ben snickers, grinning with mock evilness. “Someone would have to physically pry us away! We won’t let anything ever separate us, and that’s a promise!”

Burying his face in his hands, Five rolls over, mock groaning out a long, “No! Somebody save me!”

Ben is sure Klaus can hear his laughing from the other room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One the one hand, we got some nice healing kid Five content to sooth the pains of the last few chapters.
> 
> On the other, here you go everyone, enjoy a punch to the gut.
> 
> These are my two moods as a writer.
> 
> [Tumblr](https://ancientstone.tumblr.com/)


	13. 9th October 2018

****

**9th October 2018**

There are many times Ben wishes he was still alive.

This is an obvious wish, one so obvious that it would be strange for any passing ghost not to want such a thing. It’s what they all long for, here in the dark and the dank, out of sight and mind yet painfully still here, and can anyone, truly and honestly, blame Ben for wanting to be untethered from his brother? 

Don’t get Ben wrong, he loves Klaus, they are family and have come a long way together, but on those nights when Ben is tired, and has a headache, and Klaus decides to sing at the top of his lungs in an equally as loud top?

Give Ben life over _that_ any day.

Then again, in a twisted way, Ben is lucky, because he does have Klaus, he does have people he can talk to, and who will listen to him in return. Unlike the other phantoms who drift about doing God knows what, Ben can still interact with his family, he can still be a part of their lives.

However, this does not change the fact that he would do anything to be alive again.

The time following his death was the moment he wished for this the strongest, not only because emotions were raw, like exposed nerves being prodded by an electric charge, but because the fallout at home had been terrible. Watching his family grieve under the ruling thumb of their father would be tough on the best of days, let alone the fact that he was a sixteen-year-old kid still coming to grips with his _own death._

It cannot be said that the Hargreeves knows how to do anything healthy, and the mourning process is no exception.

Luther threw himself into being ‘Number One’, the protector and the leader when all they wanted was a brother, looming over them because their father was the only role model he had, and he didn’t know any better. 

Diego’s anger and bitterness grew into something wilder, untamed, lashing out with venom in his words and fire in his eyes. Mom only calmed him minutely, and even she could get caught up in the whirlwind if she was not careful. At least all the knives sent her way missed.

Allison became obsessed with her career, pouring herself over magazines and going to audition after audition, despite the warnings from Dad. Hollywood is a toxic place, especially for a young woman still coming into herself, and Ben had been helpless as she brought those ideas home with her, whisking them away into her room where she would disappear for hours.

Klaus, unsurprisingly, went headfirst into drugs and drink, slurring his way through most days until Five came along, and Vanya retreated into the background, becoming barely a whisper in the house and nearly as unnoticeable as Ben.

Another instance of Ben wishing for his life back was after Klaus ran away with Five, nothing but a bag of quickly gained supplies, handfuls of clothes, and the small amount of money he scrounged from robbing from his siblings to keep him going.

By this point he and Ben had grown accustomed to being in each other’s company, though the lingering taste of grief was still present. Watching Klaus sneak away, a baby only a few weeks old in his arms and apparently alone in the big, wide world made Ben yearn to have a pulse again, to help, to hold Five when Klaus got tired, to babysit so Klaus wouldn’t have to rely on dodgy neighbours who demanded payment far beyond what their services offered. 

Babies are hard work, especially when you have no idea what you’re doing, and sometimes just an extra pair of hands was all that was needed, but Ben was dead, and there was nothing anyone could do about that.

Today is another one of these days.

Klaus sits curled up against the door of the apartment, a half-empty bottle in one hand and the eviction notice in another. He stares into space, his mind a million miles away, and mascara sits smudged on his face, his skin a pale, sickly colour.

Failing to contact or turn up to work resulted in a short, sharp sacking, one that was buried among the angry messages of their answer machine. This in turn meant there was no money coming in, not for food, not for heating, and nothing for rent.

They have three hours left until they must go.

“Klaus.” Kneeling beside his brother, Ben tries to meet his gaze. 

Humming in response, Klaus takes another swig from the bottle, dropping the letter in favour of stuffing his hand inside his coat pocket. Ben doesn’t need to look to know where his new stash of drugs has been hidden away.

Not that there’s much point in Klaus hiding them, Ben has already found him high as a kite over ten times now.

“Klaus.” Ben says again, trying to sound sterner. “You need to do something.”

“Yup.” Nodding on a wobbly neck, Klaus pops the ‘p’ and drinks again.

“ _No_ , you need to ring the landlord.”

“ _No_ , I need to _pack_.”

Seriously, _this_ is when Klaus decides to become talkative?

“You can’t just-” Ben is cut off as Klaus heaves himself from the floor, staggering across the living room to stumble into his bedroom.

Hovering in the doorway, Ben watches as he leans down, tilting slightly as he does, to tug out a familiar duffle bag he hasn’t seen for years. On the side is a small stitched umbrella, half the image unpicked from wear and use.

Silently, Klaus meanders back and forth from his wardrobe, stuffing in random clothes without much thought.

“All the practical stuff first, Klaus, remember?” Ben tries, but he falls on deaf ears, and Klaus just takes a large gulp from the bottle and sweeps off the contents of his bedside table into the bag. There is a rattle of things banging together, and Ben winces, praying that the framed picture of Five and Klaus on Five’s seventh birthday hasn’t cracked.

Scooping up the bag, Klaus walks straight through Ben into the bathroom, throwing in his toothbrush, though Ben doubts he’ll use it, a bottle of deodorant, and a bar of soap which is slightly wet and leaves an orange skid mark on one of the sparkly tops.

Lips pursed, his hands fisted tightly in his pockets, Ben is powerless to do anything.

What the hell does someone say here?

_Chin up, Klaus, there’s always a silver lining? So what if your son, your brilliant, amazing son, is dead, all things happen for a reason, right?_

Trying to talk hasn’t helped either, because when the grief takes Klaus, he gets high, and if he’s high then Ben can’t talk to him, not properly. Things get weird and fuzzy around the edges, and it’s like he’s trying to shout through a layer of protective bubble wrap. 

That is probably why Klaus likes it.

Leaning against the doorframe, Ben’s eyes trail across to the other side of the living room, to the wall by the window and the little lines etched into the paintwork. They start of small, growing steadily up and up until they reach a little over Ben’s shoulder in height. There are a few doodled words next to each, giving dates and occasions that marked another step in a life.

It had been Klaus’ idea to show Five how tall he was growing.

It’s a pity the latest one will also be the last.

A muffled sob startles Ben out of his musings, and with a blink he realises Klaus has left the bathroom and is now standing just inside Five’s bedroom, the bag on the floor by his feet and his shoulders hitching.

So far, neither of them could bring themselves to enter Five’s room.

“Klaus?”

“I…I can’t…” Breath shuddering, Klaus presses his palms into his eyes. “I can’t take it all, Benny-boy.”

Within him, deep inside his chest, something shatters, trickling down like falling glass over his ribs and cutting at his flesh. Ben’s hands squeeze tighter, if that is even possible, and if he could bleed then Ben is sure that he would be leaving half-moon cuts into his skin.

“You don’t _have_ to.” He says, as gentle as he can manage, stuffing the brokenness under soft words. “Ring the landlord, ring Mr Adams, if you just let them know, they might understand, might let you keep the apartment. Klaus, Five…” A lump, thick and choking, rises in his throat and he gulps it down. “F-Five wouldn’t want you to-”

Huffing a wet, humourless laugh at his own private musings, Klaus takes three long swigs at the bottle, nearly finishing it, before tripping further into the room.

On the bedside table is a notebook, one that Five was always scribbling in.

His shoes sit at the end of the bed, the laces still tied because somewhere down the line he favoured just forcing them off instead of untying them properly. 

Hung up on his wall to cover the mould spot that they could never scrub away is the poster of Einstein that was Ben’s present to him on his ninth Christmas (though Klaus had to pay and wrap it for him).

Klaus always loved setting up the apartment for Five at Christmas, even with their less than stellar decorations and homemade streamers. Ben can remember the time when Five was about six and he came home from school only to gasp at the twig of a tree Klaus found somewhere.

Kneeling beside the bed, Klaus carefully picks up the schoolbooks stored underneath, holding one in his hands as if it was made of diamonds and peeling open the first page. His face twists, his eyes scanning over Five’s writing, and he’s quick to place them into the bag before he drops tears all over the precious words.

Along with the books, in goes the photo album that they kept in Five’s room because it’s the only place that had proper shelves, the odd beaded bracelet that Five made when he was five at a crafts event at the library, and the small box of baby things they managed to keep over the years. Although Klaus doesn’t open it, Ben knows that inside are Five’s first pair of shoes, a teething rattle, and a handkerchief-sized blanket.

The last thing Klaus takes is a sweater from the wardrobe, which he holds against him, his thumbs rubbing over the material, before he brings it to his nose and inhales deeply, his eyes closing and tears running down his cheek. 

The bottle sits on the floor, empty.

Zipping up the bag and swinging it over his shoulder, Klaus marches out the room, only briefly pausing in the doorway with a faint, nauseated look crossing his face, before sniffing loudly and walking away. 

By the door he stops, pulling out his set of keys and unclipping the keyring Five got him for Father’s Day. He tosses the key over his shoulder, not bothering to look where it falls, and Ben watches it bounce over near the kitchen units.

With one last, teary-eyed glance, Klaus sets his quivering chin and strides out the door, shutting it with a slam.

Ben bites at his tongue, his eyes trailing across the rooms he knows so well, burning the image into his mind with a desperate intensity.

“Bye, home.” He whispers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just when you thought you had survived the worst of the angst.
> 
> Don't worry, there's plenty more to come.
> 
> [Tumblr](https://ancientstone.tumblr.com/)


	14. 18th October 2018

****

**18th October 2018**

Vanya writes a book.

Not just any book, either. If it had been simply that, then Ben wouldn’t be half as bothered as he is. Curious, yes, but not personally bothered. 

But it’s not just any book. It’s not a book about dragons, knights on white horses, and faraway lands that cannot touch them, nor is it a factual book, perhaps something detailing the dos and don’ts of playing the violin, or the correct way to read sheet music. Those he could understand, because Vanya is his sister, and she always had her head buried beside her instrument or in the library growing up.

The book is not any of those things.

It’s on _them_ , a book on their _lives_ , on intimate, personal details that spill out for everyone to see at their pleasure. Ben doesn’t have the resources to check, but he already fears that it has been translated and distributed across the globe. The Umbrella Academy had been famous overseas, why wouldn’t there be a market for this kind of thing? 

All those people knowing their business, judging them for a childhood raised in a nightmare of a house, condemning like jury with no real understanding on what took place behind closed doors, what their sister did and _didn’t_ see.

He reads it over Klaus’ shoulder in the rehab centre.

 

_The death of Ben did many things to our family. We were never close, not in the way other children were, but once Number Six was gone any glue that was holding our flimsy facade of a family together was swiftly cut away._

_Dad’s increased my sibling’ training schedules, dragging days out longer and longer, and in turn they took to snide comments and constant put downs, belittling one another in order to cope with a situation no child should be forced into. I do not know if it was the grief, the exhaustion, or the pressure to succeed where Ben did not, but this moulded the house into a spiral of toxicity that was, at times, nearly unbearable._

_Calling Ben the key component keeping the family from shattering would be too generous. He was an important part, a soothing dynamic between Klaus’ eccentric nature, Luther’s domineering personality, Allison’s judging, and Diego’s anger, but he also kept to himself and was happy to let the others argue while he hid away in the library to read._

_In a way, we were very similar, but he too had it planted into his mind that powers made him special, and my lack thereof meant that I was not. Like the others, he did not miss the opportunities to remind me that I could not go on missions or take part in their individualised time with Dad._

_But that does not mean I never loved Ben, and his sudden death on the 17th March 2005 hit us all._

_Klaus took it the worst. With Ben gone, Dad homed in on him and demanded he summon our brother. Finally, He would say, a chance for Number Four’s powers to be of use to the Umbrella Academy._

_In retaliation, Klaus kept himself as high as he was able, drinking his mind into oblivion as often as he could. It is sad to say, but I came well acquainted with rolling him into the recovery position in the months that followed, we all did, and we made it our dirty little secret to keep from Dad, Mom, and Pogo._

_This was one of the few instances my siblings ever actively involved me in anything._

 

Vanya was quiet. She was sweet, and kind, and caring in her own soft way. She was gentle touches and whispered words, and a calming presence in the middle of chaos.

Ben never knew Vanya as brutal.

 

_Klaus’ behaviour continued to spiral, going through the spring and summer, through our seventeenth birthday in October, until the 10th November 2005, a date I will always remember because I was the one who answered the door._

_I was met with the image of a girl my age, holding a baby carrier which contained what I would later, after the girl talked privately with Dad and Mom in his office, find out was my nephew._

_The shock, I think, was enough to get Klaus sober._

_I have never seen my brother so pale, even when he was high and drunk and barely functioning. Yet the moment Mom carefully handed the baby over, he seemed to lose whatever blood was within him, staring blankly at the child as if he had just been given a creature from another galaxy._

_Dad was beyond furious._

_Children of the Umbrella Academy are supposed to set an example. He was forever lecturing my siblings before TV interviews and magazine chats that they needed to present themselves as respectable young men and women. They were not allowed to swear, though they all did in private, or make lude remarks or gestures, which Klaus and Diego often tried anyway, and Allison was forever having arguments with Mom about the lengths of her skirts or her sleeves or the way she styled her hair._

_Getting a girl pregnant and being left holding the baby?_

_Dad never hit any of us, but in that moment, I feared he would, and that smack would send the baby flying._

_Thankfully, I was wrong._

_After making Klaus impossibly small, Dad then turned and explained the situation to the rest of us._

_The child had been born on the 8th November 2005, and the mother had signed over full custody to the family. We were not to interact with the child, Luther especially because despite being seventeen, he still had issues controlling his strength. The baby was to be cared for by Mom, and Mom alone. Once it was old enough, Dad would test to see if their powers were hereditary._

_After that, the baby was taken from Klaus’ arms and we were sent to continue the day’s schedule as planned, as if nothing had ever happened._

 

Klaus, at this stage, had been too high to interact with Ben, but he had been there, watching from the side-lines as Dad made Mom manhandle the infant from his arms. It was at this point that Klaus seemed to snap back into the moment, suddenly demanding to know what she was doing, where she was taking the baby, when he would get the baby back.

Dad brushed him off, laughing in that short, humourless way and stating Klaus had no idea how to care for a child.

He could still remember the look on Klaus’ face when he all but begged, “So _teach_ me.”

 

_One of the few times I ever saw my brother truly angry was a day later, when our Father decided on the name of Klaus’ child without his consent._

_Klaus is not an anger-prone person. He much prefers fancy wordplay and intimate, unhealthy relationships over harsh conflict and rage. Where Diego punches, Klaus smokes. Where Luther overbears, Klaus spends nights with questionable people. Where Allison rumours, he offers LSD and other fun-coloured concoctions._

_We had been sat at the breakfast table, and I genuinely thought Klaus was going to throw his butter knife at someone._

_Dad said it was a reasonable decision. Number Five, to take up the empty spot that had been a noticeable, gaping hole since childhood. It made sense, he said, why continue the successive count when there was a useless space ready to be filled?_

_Never mind the memory of our deceased little brother._

_Klaus has stood up sharply, barking harsh words, ignoring Allison trying to coax him into sitting back down as he yelled how numbers are not names, that the baby is not some toy or pawn to be messed about with, that Dad had no right to do anything to them without Klaus’ say so, especially on official, legal documents._

_Dad made Mom march Klaus to him room for that, where he continued to rant for hours. I think he may have even thrown something at the door. Diego became angry then, because Mom returned with her wrist slightly out of alinement. She laughed it off, but I overheard Diego sneaking out and using the fire escape to reach Klaus’ room a few hours after._

_Two weeks later, on the 23rd November 2005, Klaus ran away with Five and we never heard anything from him again._

 

Slumped on the bottom bunk of his bed, Klaus’ face twists, and Ben can see his grip slowly tightening on the book, making the spine creak from the pressure.

“Klaus…”

“I can’t believe her.” Setting the book down, Klaus rubs his hands over his face, his eyes wet and red. His fingers shake. “I can’t believe she would…That’s not her business to tell!”

There is a gnawing sensation in Ben’s gut, but whether it’s from worry or the creatures he has no idea. 

“I know, Klaus.”

“Can, _Christ_ , can you imagine if Five…” Klaus’ voice breaks, cracking loudly, and he swallows, letting out a watery, humourless laugh and staring up at the bottom of the mattress on the bunk above. “Can you imagine if Five was still at school? Fuck, Ben, everyone would know that his mom was some random girl who gave him up, that I was a teenage druggie, God-”

“Breathe, Klaus, take a deep breat-”

“No, _no_ , listen, you know how nuts those teachers could get, those mothers! When he…” Tears are freely trailing down Klaus’ cheeks. “When he was at kindergarten, they all used to look at me like I was scum. All his teachers are gonna think I’d leave him to get high, or, or…” He waves a hand vaguely, “Bring home randoms to sleep with! I’m not like that! I wasn’t like that! I didn’t, I never-”

“Klaus, I know.” Kneeling beside the bed, Ben tries and fails to meet his eyes. “And the teachers would’ve known it too. People change, and you were the best father you could be.”

Klaus laughs again. “So good my kid is dead.”

The monsters might really emerge now, Ben can feel them twisting and turning beneath his chest, feeding on the spike of pain that shoots through his veins at the thought of his nephew being gone. 

Fuck, they couldn’t even bury him.

Weakly, but pushing as much strength into the statement as he can, Ben insists, “It’s _not_ your fault.”

Shaking his head and biting his lip hard, Klaus turns onto his side to face Ben, his mouth opening to speak only to have his gaze shift somewhere beyond Ben’s shoulder, his whole body stilling with a sudden horror.

“Kla-”

“Shit, _shit_ , is that? Holy _shit_ , Ben, go look, I can’t, I _can’t_ -”

Turning, Ben’s eyes lock onto the figure of a child, sat crossed legged with their back towards them, dried blood running down from their neck. They are dressed in a blue pyjama shirt and trousers, swaying a little back and forth. 

The pale complexion, the black hair styled in a way that worked even though it seemed so strange on a child so young, the neat clothes.

It's…Not.

Ben is sure it's _not_.

He can tell from here. The shoulders are too broad, too relaxed, in no way the tight, almost formal posture Five always kept. The hair is just a bit too long, slightly trailing over the ears, and is a shade ever so slightly too light.

But…

Swallowing down the wodge of something that lodges itself thickly into his throat, Ben slowly climbs to his feet, inching towards the deceased child as Klaus flips over onto his other side, smothering his head under the pillow. Ben tries to ignore the way Klaus’ shoulders hitch horribly.

“Excuse me?” He croaks, almost in a whisper.

When he meets the boy’s gaze, he is not sure whether he is elated or disheartened with the fact that it’s not Five.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y’know how in chapter one everyone commented how cute it was that Klaus named his son after the first Number Five?
> 
> Yeah. He didn’t. You have no idea how hard it was to bite my tongue on that little fact.
> 
> In other news, local non-American learns that it’s kinderGARTEN, not kinderGARDEN. Who knew?
> 
> [Tumblr](https://ancientstone.tumblr.com/)


	15. 17th November 2018

****

**17th November 2018**

The best thing about leaving rehab is that Klaus can go get high again.

There is nothing quite like that first trip, that sensation of drugs filtering into a newly cleaned system and soothing over the mind like a healing salve. The feeling numbs him, kicking out all the terrible, disgusting thoughts that like to wack the back of his skull, leaving him floating on a nice cloud, away from the world, away from the weight of responsibilities, away from the crushing hand squeezing the life out of Klaus’ heart.

Ben hates it. 

The effect makes him flicker in and out of Klaus’ sight constantly, and he continues to berate him for his behaviour in that painfully soft understanding way that makes Klaus just want to punch him smack in the face and leave a satisfying bruise. He’s not often violent towards his brother, if ever, but if Klaus has dealt with grief by abusing his body, then Ben has dealt by becoming closed off and nagging.

Klaus has, for the most part, been ignoring it.

He has years of experience when it comes to the art of blocking out the moans and wails of ghosts, and it’s very easy to fall back into old habits and pretend Ben isn’t there when he’s lecturing Klaus on where going, what he’s doing, and who he’s doing it with.

Then Five’s birthday came around.

The eighth of November, born in the year 2005. Nine days ago, his baby turned thirteen years old, official teenagerhood, the land of acne, hormones, and demanded independence.

It was only natural the brewing toxicity that had been brooding between Klaus and Ben came to a head on the day where they felt Five’s absence the most. For the last twelve years, the day had been spent at the zoo, or at Griddy’s, or at the science museum. There was cake, sometimes store brought and sometimes homemade, and balloons and silly party hats that made Five snicker.

There was none of that this year.

Instead, there were spat words, old grudges riled up, mourning mixed into blame and accusations. Ben did an amazing Dad impression by relaying how disappointed he was, how Klaus was wasting his life, how Five would be so angry if he could see him now.

Klaus had cried, Ben had cried, and they failed to hug and make up afterwards, because nine days ago Five turned thirteen and only Klaus was here to see it.

What sick fucks decide children should go before their parents, anyway?

Well, he knows the answer to that.

 _Reginald_ , according to Ben.

 _Me_ , according to Klaus.

Their words have been empty and plain ever since. 

Gulping down a mouthful of harsh tasting alcohol which he honestly cannot remember buying and has no idea what it actually is, Klaus staggers his way towards the area he knows Marie will be camping out this time of night. She was always good for the decent drugs; he never got a bad trip because of her.

The air is cold, sharp, biting into the damp skin of his cheeks and forming a thin veil of frost over the sidewalk. It’s somewhere between eleven and twelve now, the noises of the city continuing to pulse with life. Night pollution smothers the sky, choking out any chance of stars. The bag strapped to his back, now seriously lacking in most of Klaus’ belongings (but not Five’s, no one was allowed to _touch_ Five’s), feels as if it’s cutting all the circulation from his shoulders.

“Klaus?” A voice calls out behind him, slicing through the sounds of traffic and partygoers, and Klaus frowns, because Ben’s been gone all day and why the hell would he turn up now when Klaus is halfway to obliviously drunk and off to get his high?

Spinning on his heel, and majorly overbalancing because of it, Klaus takes a few seconds to focus in on Diego speed-walking up the path, his confused expression noticeable even in the dim streetlight. In one hand Klaus can see his mask bunched up.

“Ah-ha! Dearest Number Two, we meet again-”

“What the fuck, Klaus?” Marching straight up to him, Diego scans Klaus over, confusion turning into something angrier. “Are you…Are you _drunk?”_

“As a skunk, baby!” Klaus does a little twirl to prove it, flouncing his black thin-as-hell coat like a flamenco dancer.

“W-What the fuck?”

Klaus boops him on the nose. “You’re getting senile in your old age, Diego, you’re repeating yourself.”

“We’re the same age.” Diego argues automatically, before grabbing onto Klaus’ arms and holding him still. “What the hell are you doing out here Klaus? At this time of night?”

Alcohol has always made Klaus loose lipped, slurring his way through thoughts that he would have preferred to keep to himself, thank you very much.

This is what he blames when he blurts out, “Well, this is what happens when everything you love goes bye-bye. Proof. There it goes.” He makes a motion with his fingers to indicate something fluttering away, and then swigs more of the bottle. 

Unfortunately, it’s nearly empty.

He could really do with those drugs now.

Diego’s face twists, eyes darting between Klaus’ as he unpicks what he just heard. Klaus watches as his expression turns suspicious, guarded, easily putting pieces of an unfortunate puzzle together.

Diego was kicked out of the police academy for his behaviour, not his mind.

“What happened to Five?” He asks, slow and cautious. When Klaus just giggles and drinks again, draining the bottle, Diego shakes him, demanding, “Klaus! What happened to Five? Talk to me!”

Something snaps inside him.

“Oh, what do you care?” He yells, trying to wiggle out of Diego’s grip. He adds bitterly, “You never even met him.”

He is, frustratingly, unable to claw himself free, not at all helped by the dipping of the world and the spiralling tunnel vision Klaus is currently sailing through as if on a rollercoaster ride. Whatever that bottle was, it was strong. It normally takes a while for him to get this drunk.

Diego’s voice is somewhat distant. “Klaus? Klaus!”

“Hm? What?” He slurs, unable to meet his gaze as his knees buckle under him. 

Diego’s hands dig into his arms as he struggles to keep them upright, muttering something over and over in his ear, but Klaus doesn’t pay that much attention and allows himself to drown in the drunken stupor. True, he had been aiming for a drug high, perhaps an overdose, but tonight he’ll take what he can get.

Klaus drifts for hours.

He can feel his body being manipulated around, hefted over a shoulder and flung across the backseats of a car with little grace.

He can hear the rumbling of an engine, and the sounds of doors opening and closing, and someone huffing as they drag him along.

He can smell the thick scent of sweat and leather, the tangs of dust that come with old buildings and the stink of rusting machinery that flickers in the background of the air.

Klaus ignores it all, simply enjoying his inky blackness for what it is, ignoring the hunger pains in his gut or the nagging worry that Ben might not come back this time. Oblivion is far more appealing than contemplating that little detail, and he knows what evil he would rather be sinking into.

Which is why it sucks when he wakes up.

Groaning, Klaus shifts, his face scrunching as he pushes back the scratchy blanket covering him. He is sprayed out on his side in a sloppy attempt at the recovery position, his shoes and coat no longer on his body and his head tucked under a hard as rock pillow.

“Took your time.” Ben says from somewhere, probably perched on a countertop as usual.

Klaus’ response is unintelligible.

“Diego stayed up most of the night looking after you.” Ben continues, and Klaus can hear him move, footsteps approaching. “He only fell asleep half an hour ago. Seems pretty out of it, too.”

The headache pounding against the inside of his brain is too much for Ben’s sassiness, and Klaus flops onto his back, swallowing down the bile that threatens to rise. Taking three deep, slow breaths, he slowly forces himself to sit up, palming his eyes as the universe goes helter-skelter. 

“G’morning to you too, Benny-boy.” The croak is pathetic and aching, but Klaus pushes through it, blinking blearily at his ghostly brother standing near the foot of the bed.

Beside him is Diego, who is slouched in an uncomfortable looking chair with his arms crossed and his head tilted back, his mouth hanging open to catch flies.

The room they are in seems to be more a back storage and boiler room than an apartment or flat, but there is a small kitchen unit and a curtain that slides around the bed and various little knick-knacks and posters strung about, and even in Klaus’ hungover fog he can decipher this is where Diego lives. 

Smacking his lips, Klaus forces his legs to hang over the side of the bed, wearily eyeing his shoes which have been sat on the floor. His coat is draped a hanger the other side of the room, by a set of steps leading up to the door, and his bag rests by a random pile of books piled that form a misshapen, impromptu table.

“I know what you’re planning to do.” Ben states, crossing his arms. “Don’t. Diego wants to help you, running off won’t-” He cuts himself off as Klaus reaches for his shoes, fumbling them onto his feet with less coordination than he would like. Ben huffs. “Klaus.”

“I’m not sticking around here.” Pushing himself up into a standing position, Klaus’ stomach lurches and he gulps heavily, riding through the several bodily attempts to retch before staggering towards his coat. “He’ll just ask questions, and want me to get clean, and like _shit_ am I getting clean…”

“You’ve done it before.” Following behind Klaus, Ben has a small expression on his face, one that speaks of hurt, and fear, and a near state of begging. Klaus barely catches it in the corner of his flickering vision, and that is enough for him to adamantly not look at Ben again.

Tugging on his coat, Klaus shrugs, fighting his mouth as it threatens to twist into something akin to a sob. 

“I had something to live for, then.” He states, scooping up his bag.

Diego is none the wiser as he slips out, closing the door behind him.

****

**30th December 2018**

Overdose number two is just as fun as overdose number one. According to Ben, he was frothing at the mouth this time, which is a nice little extra piece of drama. It will give something for the ambulance crew to discuss, anyway. _The time they met a zombie._

He manages to bail on rehab before he’s forced into the building, slipping the net and traipsing across to the other side of town so he doesn’t get pick up again. 

Ben stalks him like a well-trained phantom, tutting and sighing but no longer holding any of the bite he had before. Klaus doesn’t know if ghosts can feel tired, but if he had to make a diagnosis, he would say Ben was.

****

**2nd February 2019**

Honestly, Klaus doesn’t get why Ben is so disappointed in him. _Of course_ he was going to try and overdose again, Five is _dead_ , Klaus will never be able to summon him, and he has spent _months_ homeless and sofa surfing and sleeping in garbage bins all over the city.

Here’s to living, right? Why would he ever try to escape that?

He _does_ manage to escape rehab again, when one of the cleaners accidentally leaves a door open the second day he’s there. 

Klaus spends his entire bolt to freedom humming the _Pink Panther_ theme and _The Great Escape_ , and something twists in his chest when Ben snorts a laugh at that.

Ben also corrects him when he gets in a muddle and starts singing the _Wallace and Gromit_ tune by mistake, which is nice of him.

****

**21st March 2019**

Dad is dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey look everyone, Reginald is dead! Isn’t that what you wanted?
> 
> What do you mean you wanted it to happen in chapter ten? Jeez, there’s no pleasing some people…
> 
> [Tumblr](https://ancientstone.tumblr.com/)


	16. 22nd November 2005

****

**22nd November 2005**

“You’re sure he’s through here?”

“Yes! Stop doubting me!”

“And Dad’s in bed?”

“Oh, for the love of…Yes, Klaus, he is!”

“And the cameras are-”

“Klaus!” Ben snaps, whirling around to shove a finger into Klaus’ face, his tone loud because unlike Klaus, Ben is dead, he doesn’t need to be concerned about waking anyone up. “Stop harassing me! Do you want me to take you to Five or not?”

There’s that name again. 

_Five._

Another number in a sequence, another experiment to be locked up and prodded, tested beyond his means. Another pawn for Dad to mess about with, to mould into a toxic personality in an equally toxic house, filling them to the brim with thoughts of the Umbrella Academy, crime fighting, and warnings of the end of days.

Klaus barely had the chance to _think_ of a name before Dad bulldozed that little fantasy like a sledgehammer, just as he always did with every aspect of their lives. 

This is the man who told them to leave the baby bird they found outside for nature to, “Seal its fate.” This is the man who demanded they suffer through individual training made to strengthen their control over their powers, but resulted in broken bones, broken spirits, and broken minds. This is the man whose solution to his adopted son’s fear over his ability to see the dead left Klaus locked in a mausoleum for hours when he was thirteen.

Klaus was naive to think he would be allowed the privilege of naming his own child.

There are so many nice names out there as well, fitting names, unique and special. Names which roll off the tongue like the butter on a pancake, heating Klaus’ chest with a light, floating sensation.

Why did his son have to be branded ‘Five’ of all things? 

His son.

Fuck, Klaus might not get over that. He has a _child._

Pulling a face, Klaus raises an eyebrow, “Don’t you _want_ me to get him out?”

Huffing and rolling his eyes, Ben turns his back to Klaus and silently continues guiding Klaus through the corridors of the mansion. His shoulders raise in the way they always do when he is tense, and Klaus doesn’t miss the glances over the shoulder as they walk along.

Receiving the message loud and clear, Klaus locks his mouth shut and keeps his nervous sigh inward. His shoes squeak on the wooden floor, the laces feeling far too tight, and mutely he laments that Dad keeps their outdoor gear locked away somewhere. Apart from the heeled boots he legally obtained a few months ago, which are, unfortunately, unsuitable for the long trek they are about to face, Klaus is stuck with his Academy school shoes. 

Walking boots would be really nice right now, sturdy and good in all weather.

Hefting the bag further up his shoulder, Klaus nibbles at his lip.

The bag he is taking is one of the ones they are forced to use whenever they train outside the academy, normally for brief trips into the woods to test their ‘survival skills’. 

Luther calls it teamwork training. 

Klaus calls it leaving the kids to defend for themselves for forty-eight hours in the middle of nowhere. 

By now some of the threads making up the umbrella emblem have started to unravel, and there are muddy skid marks over the material from the time he took a less than stellar slide down a sodden bank, but the bag has yet to tear on him, and Klaus needs something long-lasting.

Currently, it contains some of his clothes and shoes, some food, and whatever money he managed to nick from around the house. It’s not filled to the brim yet, because he needs space for formula, and baby grows, and blankets, and diapers, and everything else required to keep a baby happy and healthy.

Tonight, they make their escape.

Which is not at all terrifying.

According to Ben, Mom normally watches over Five for most of the night, but even she must leave to recharge, and Dad hasn’t moved her station into the room. This means that between eleven and twelve at night, Five is left alone.

They just need to get in, pack, grab Five, and sneak out. Simple, easy, and effective. 

There is nothing to worry about.

It’s fine.

They’re just stealing his baby back. It’s _fine._

True, if he didn’t live in this godforsaken house, Klaus wouldn’t _need_ to steal his child away, but unfortunately for him, he does, and he must. Five cannot go through the same things he did. Even if Klaus fails at everything else, the least he can do it save Five from that.

This little person, who he is responsible for.

Shit.

“Here.” Pointing out a door, Ben drifts through the wall with the confidence he did not possess a few months ago, leaving Klaus to slowly turn the handle and peer in. 

The room is plain, boring, dull, and in an odd way kind of lifeless. There is nothing of interest, and the décor leaves a lot to be desired. It is not hard to believe that when Dad first acquired all of them, rooms like this is what he shoved them into. Those poor nannies must have been so bored without anything to look at.

Ben is waiting, standing over the crib with a fond expression crossing his face. He glances up, tutting as Klaus stares wide eyed, his hands faffing with the straps for the bag.

“He’s a baby, he won’t bite.”

“Shut up! I know!” Klaus hisses back, mustering up the courage to tiptoe over the creaky floorboards to peer down.

The crib is equally bare, practical but lacking any personal touches a new parent would want to flourish their baby with. Five is sprawled on his back on the mattress, asleep and with a thin blanket tucked over him courtesy of Mom. A line of drool trickles down his round face, the tufts of dark hair poking out at odd angles in a way that almost gives him a mohawk. 

Klaus gulps, staring down at the child. _His_ child.

Dad ordered Five to be kept separate from the rest of the house, leaving his care solely the responsibility of Mom, meaning that Klaus hasn’t seen Five since the day he arrived, all but two weeks ago. 

Admittedly, he had been a bit out of it then.

Klaus is aware he held Five, a strange, solid weight in his arms, and that he was snapped back into harsh reality when they took him away, but everything in-between is fuzzy, dream-like, as if a half-remembered fever hallucination.

Clearing his throat, Klaus quickly tears himself away from the crib. They only have so much time before Mom gets back, and if he gets caught then Klaus has no doubts that Dad will never let him see Five again. The man is cruel, and at this point Klaus doesn’t put anything passed him.

Ben stays where he is, watching Klaus as he moves between draws and cupboards, shoving everything he can into the bag. Pretty much all they need is in here, thank God, meaning they won’t have to go on a midnight scavenger hunt around the mansion looking for everything. Klaus doesn’t know if he could cope with that right now. 

It does make him wonder, though, if Five ever leaves the room.

He shoves that thought away and doesn’t allow himself to contemplate it.

Soon, Klaus has packed all he can, and he silently returns to the side crib, tugging the bag securely onto his back so it doesn’t swing around.

“Ready?” Ben asks quietly, his face seeming to know more than his words do.

Klaus gnaws at his lip, not meeting Ben’s eyes as he whispers, “No.”

“You’ll be fine, Klaus. You can’t stay here, neither of you can.”

“I…I know.”

“You know what’ll happen if you do.”

“Yes.” Klaus’ knees feel weak. “Yes. We gotta go.”

Swallowing down the lump of uncertainty inside his throat, Klaus, ever so slowly, leans down, scooping his fingers beneath Five tiny head and back. Five makes a noise, twisting slightly in his hands, and Klaus freezes.

Ben inches up beside him. “You’re ok.”

“Yes.” He nods, his mouth feeling numb. “It’s ok. I’m ok.” 

As if Five was made of glass, Klaus lifts him from the cot, awkwardly tucking the blanket around him as he carefully settles Five against his chest, one hand supporting his head and shoulders, the other underneath him.

Five wiggles, his face scrunching, his hands fisting, but he doesn’t cry, only yawns, big and wide and soft, and Klaus can feel the warm puff of air that tickles against his neck. It’s like he can barely breathe, as if his whole body has been rendered motionless, completely awed by the small body against him.

Ben nods towards the door. “Come on, let’s go.”

The house silent as they navigate their way along, uncaring in their shuffled retreat from its looming walls and glaring windows. Ben walks in front, just in case anyone else happens to be creeping around, and Klaus stiffly trails behind, his heart hammering with fear and apprehension and nerves and _love._

The sensation hits him, right at that moment, smack in the middle of his chest as if a bullet impact, sucking his air out from him and leaving Klaus floating.

_Love._

Klaus _loves_ his son.

He loves his _child._

God, Klaus would do anything for the bundle in his arms, this tiny, fragile little human who is solely dependent on him to provide everything he needs to be healthy, to be happy, to _survive._

Somewhere in the living room, the old clock chimes twelve.

****

**23rd November 2005**

The door to the Academy opens and shuts with a groan, and Klaus, his ghost brother, and his infant son head off into the chilly world beyond, leaving the only home they have ever known behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Off they go!
> 
> [Tumblr](https://ancientstone.tumblr.com/)


	17. 24th March 2019

****

**24th March 2019**

There is no nostalgic reminiscing as they enter the house this time around.

There is nothing to be nostalgic about. This is the place where his son was killed, why the fuck would Klaus want to reminisce on that? 

In fact, he does the exact opposite, giving himself a little bit of Dutch Courage (or three) before bracing himself to meet and greet with his siblings. They have not seen each other since he left the academy thirteen years ago, minus the recent bump ins with Diego, and Allison’s movies, though they probably don’t count, so how it will go is anyone’s guess.

Turns out, it is awkward as shit.

In the end, after floating around the house for several hours and a bit of stilted reintroductions to the grown adults they all vaguely know yet very clearly do not, they all wind up spread around the living room, equal distance apart and not saying a single goddamn word to one another.

His bag has been shut away in his room, where it cannot be spoiled by sibling meddling.

Klaus helps himself to the bar, because Ben isn’t here to scold him about it and Diego’s judgemental scowls wash off his back like the rain. He’s pretty sure he hears Pogo pottering about, in some distant nook or cranny of the house, but he seems to wise up to the fact he should keep the hell out of Klaus’ way.

In truth, Klaus doesn’t even _know_ what he’s going to do when they finally get forced into the same space, but it will probably be something stupid and sloppy on his part. The pills buzzing around his system have left him strangely numb, making the tips of his fingers tingle with a pleasant sensation that he isn’t quite ready to let go of yet.

What they have all been doing floating around the house, he has no idea, but Klaus has been busy. By this point, he has already sold three boxes, one thingamabob, a small statuette of a monkey, and three dusty books from the library that looked expensive, all for the sake of drugs. His back pocket boasts a nice supply that will keep him busy for a while.

Clearing his throat, Klaus elects himself to break the stuffy silence by leaning back on the couch, cigarette in one hand and drink in the other, looking over towards Allison by the fire nursing a glass of something he would very much like to try.

“So, how’s Claire?”

Vanya jumps like a spooked cat, and Luther breaks out of whatever trance he has fallen into, narrowing his eyes at Klaus. Allison blinks, tucking a stand of hair behind her ear, one nail tapping a small rhythm against the glass.

For a moment, Klaus wonders if he is going to get a reply. He is all too aware of Allison’s marriage problems, it’s hard not to be when they are literally plastered across every front page of every gossip magazine available, so maybe trying to break the tension by chatting kids wasn’t the best idea.

He is proven wrong when Allison finally settles on saying, “She’s doing well, thanks. She’s, um, she’s taken up karate classes, recently. Already the top of her class.”

“Just like her Mom.” Vanya smiles softly, and the two share a little moment in which Diego scoffs and leans back, crossing his arms just a moody teenager forced to attend a family meeting.

“How old is she now?” Luther asks.

“Six. She’ll be seven in September.”

September, only a sneeze-full of months before Five’s. Sucking in a breath of smoke, Klaus wonders what day she was born.

He wasn’t invited to the birth. As far as he’s aware, none of this side of the family were. Unsurprising, considering how Allison did everything she could to avoid being connected with the Umbrella Academy once it was her turn to bolt, but you would think someone would at least let their siblings know that they are aunts and uncles.

Klaus never had that problem. He had been a kid when Five was born, only four years older than Five is now, and they were all still living under the same roof.

Technically, five years older, because Five never made it to thirteen, did he?

The conversation continues around him, discussing Claire’s school, and her grades, and the clubs she’s joined. She’s desperate to be a Girl Scout, apparently, but Allison and Patrick haven’t let her because they still get mobbed by paparazzi and they haven’t found a group they trust.

“Or, well, we hadn’t.” Allison finishes, her expression souring. Luther opens his mouth to probably to ask what she means, because Klaus doubts you get celebrity gossip on the moon, but Allison cuts him off by asking, “What about Five, Klaus?”

“What about him?” He answers before he can think, blinking through the smoke of his cigarette. Diego’s head swivels his way, glancing between Allison and Klaus as if watching a tennis match, and his jaw noticeably stiffens.

“He’s…” Allison squints her eyes in a moment of thought, “Thirteen, right? Is he at school today?” 

The room goes silent, waiting for his answer, all focus pinpointed directly onto Klaus like an ant under a magnifying glass, eyes narrowed and doubts as clear as day.

He is well aware what he looks like, dressed in clothes that smell of three weeks ago and plastered with makeup that should have been washed off last month. This is hardly the ideal picture of the responsible adult he is supposed to be, of a parent who does their best for their child.

Shit, it’s like dealing with the moms at kindergarten again, only this time he’s not being judged by his age, but his appearance.

Klaus clears his throat and taps away some of the cigarette ash into a random trophy beside the couch, chewing on the inside of his cheek as his mouth goes dry.

What the flying fuck is he supposed to say here?

My son’s dead. _Surprise!_

After several awkwardly long beats, Klaus manages to force out, in a tone that is even and flat, “I thought Diego would’ve figured it out by now.”

“You didn’t tell me shit.” Diego accuses instantly, as if he has been chewing a prepared monologue over for a while. There is a darkness in his eyes, a heaviness that Klaus cannot decide whether he appreciates it or not. “I even went through all your records. I know where you lived, where you worked, how much tax you paid every year, but I couldn’t find anything on what happened.”

“Klaus?” Setting her glass down on the coffee table between them, Allison’s face contorts into a frown. “What’s he on about?”

“Five’s dead.”

His statement cuts through like one of Diego’s knives, unforgiving in its directness, and everyone but him flinches. Someone gasps, possibly Allison, and while Klaus doesn’t look directly at Luther, he can see the way he shifts in his seat, his shoulders falling with dawning realisation.

Vanya’s eyes are almost comically wide, her hands fiddling and picking at the edges of her sleeve, and from the way she glances about and ducks her head, Klaus knows what she is currently thinking about.

_The book._

Yeah, he’s still not over that little whack around the head with an iron brick, thanks.

“W-What?” Allison stammers, and it makes sense that she’s the one to breach the silence, because she’s the only other parent in the room. Her hand reaches out to him, despite the fact that they are not sitting anywhere close. “Five’s dead? How?” She swallows, and there is pity in her eyes. “I can’t imagine…”

“Yeah, bro, what happened?” Diego asks, but there is no longer any accusation in his voice. “I went through the files, there wasn’t a death certific-”

“That’ll be Dad, I assume.” Klaus shrugs, not looking at any of them and sucking another lungful of smoke. “I didn’t even have to ring the school, they rung _me_ to tell me how sorry they were.”

Luther repeats, his head snapping up, “Dad?”

“Klaus, what happened?” Allison looks so earnest, so broken, and it’s clear she’s picturing Claire in the same position. If the situation was flipped, he would be doing the exact same thing.

Glancing around the room, he sees similar expressions, his siblings near mirroring one another as they try to pry him for answers, try to understand how and why their nephew is dead.

He can’t help it. Something bitter rises within him, tasting of bile and ash.

“It’s amazing,” He scoffs, gazing up at the ceiling. “Now he’s dead, everyone wants to know about him. Did you know not a single one of you ever tried to visit when he was alive? Oh, sorry, hang on.” He places a hand over his heart, and smiles strained at Diego. “You were _planning_ to, right?”

Diego sits straighter in his chair, his hands fisting and flexing on his lap, before asking again, “What happened?”

“What _happened_ is that is that Dad decided that seven lab rats wasn’t enough!” Klaus’ voice rings high as he talks, and he struggles to rein it back down, waving the cigarette and leaving a trail of grey smoke in the air. “Did you know he died right here? In this house?” He points to the floor. “In the basement, to be exact. I found him, tied up in a chair and _screaming_.”

“In the…” Allison whispers, confused and horrified, a face of a parent.

“No.” Luther shakes his head, and Klaus can see the denial from here. “No, why would-”

“Does Claire have powers?” Klaus cuts off, looking towards Allison.

She blinks, and blanks. “What?”

“Claire, does she have powers?”

“No. No, she doesn’t.” As she speaks, realisation starts to dawn. “Wait, did-”

“Yep, got them when he was five. Teleportation. Gave me enough heart attacks to last a lifetime.”

Breathing in another inhale of smoke, Klaus absently watches as Diego stands to go pace behind the couch, his gaze a thousand miles away and looking like a caged dog ready to snap at whatever petting hand comes his way.

Klaus adds, because he can, “Pretty good thing Dad died when he did, otherwise I imagine Claire would be next on his list.”

Maybe that was a bit pathetic of him, to throw that into the ring of hurt that is currently circulating the room, but this whole family is pathetic, a mess of miscommunication and trauma, and at the moment Klaus’ normal care for what his siblings think and feel is about as far from his mind as it physically can be.

Allison has set her gaze miles away as she churns over a thousand different questions, the conflict playing across her face like an awful puppet show no audience could ever enjoy. Vanya is a statue on the couch beside him, pained, pitying, guilty, and Klaus cannot bring himself to even glance at her.

Five would’ve been so upset at her book.

While he was not the most bothered child with the opinion of others, there was no way reading about Klaus and Ben when they were kids, with all the harsh words, cutting remarks, and unsavoury details, wouldn’t have left an impact on him. If there was one thing Klaus knew, it is that Five was a protective little bugger when he wanted to be, and enough Moms at the kindergarten had bruised shins to prove it.

There was also the fact that, for a month or so, Vanya’s book was the _thing_ to read.

School would have been a nightmare.

Let alone the fact that Klaus never did tell him about his mother, or that he was the result of a one-night stand.

“I…I need some air.” Allison stutters, all but leaping from her chair to speed walk her way across the room, her heels echoing off the walls as she retreats in the direction of the stairs.

After a few seconds, Luther stands, his face contorted in confusion, and silently follows after her.

When Diego marches up to him, Klaus gazes up with apathetic eyes, tapping away more ash from the end of his cigarette.

“Why didn’t you tell us, tell _me?”_ He hisses, angry at Klaus, at Dad, at the world, it would seem. “I was there, afterwards. I could’ve…We could’ve-”

“Well, I’ve dealt with everything else on my own, so…” He makes a shooing motion.

Technically, his statement is not true, because he has Ben, hypothetically, but saying as much will open a whole new can of worms, so instead of dealing with it like an adult Klaus simply pushes himself off the couch, winks at Diego, and saunters off to find the stronger liquor Dad keeps around the house.

He thinks Vanya says something after him, but what it is he has no idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “only a sneeze-full of months” is probably the best sentence I’ve ever wrote!
> 
> Remember everyone, it’s not about the destination, but the journey, and at the moment we’re on a journey called ‘How Long Can The Author Drag This Out For?’
> 
> The answer is very long.
> 
> [Tumblr](https://ancientstone.tumblr.com/)


	18. 24th March 2019

****

**24th March 2019**

“That went well.” Ben promptly informs Klaus as he relaxes on the kitchen table, a glass in one hand and a newly lit cigarette in the other.

“Oh, do you think?”

“ _Klaus_.” Taking a seat beside Klaus’ head, Ben huffs, chastising, “You shouldn’t push them away.”

Rolling his eyes, Klaus props himself onto his elbows, letting his head flop to the side as he fixes Ben with an unimpressed look. As he moves, some of his drink sloshes in the glass, tipping onto his hand and making his fingers sticky.

“Why not? They don’t give a damn, Benny-boy.” Klaus watches as Ben purses his lips, adding, “If they did, we never would’ve been homeless.”

Ben crosses his arms, not budging from the high horse he has sat himself upon. “We wouldn’t _be_ homeless if you rang the landlord and Mr Adams.”

Klaus smiles widely but with his lips held tight together, leaning forward to boop Ben’s nose even though his finger phases straight through, making Ben’s outline go blue and fuzzy. Ben’s already pinched expression sours even more.

“Not the time I was talking about.”

Realisation dawns across Ben’s face, and he glances away, his shoulders hunching at the reminder and the blatant knowledge that what Klaus says is true.

If any of them had given a single hoot about Klaus and Five, then Five’s first years wouldn’t have been on the street, or in dodgy hostels run by overworked do-gooders who didn’t deserve the abuse they got, or in bug littered apartments where the neighbours were rowdy and the gunshots shattering.

Their siblings want to tell them that they love Klaus and cared for Five, then fine, but actions speak so much louder than words, and the three glorious examples of interaction they have had over the years are made up of Allison’s front page celebrity nonsense, the single accidental bump in with Diego, and Vanya’s book.

Somewhere within the house, and if Klaus had to hazard a guess, he would suggest Luther’s room, music begins to play, twisting through the floorboards.

Ben raises an eyebrow at the ceiling, asking to no one in particular, “Seriously?”

“Oh, calm down, I think it’s nice.”

Not that Klaus can relate to the song, because with his powers, he is never alone, a statement that is less reassuring as one might think.

Still, he hums along nonetheless, swaying his head from side to side in time with the beat, his eyes closed and crossed feet tapping. When he packed up his belongings after Five’s death, the one thing he forgot were his headphones and the blessed relief they could bring from his phantom friends, meaning not only has he been at the mercy of their incessant screaming whenever he comes down from his latest high, but Klaus has also been without some good tunes for a while.

He didn’t realise how much he missed it until now.

Klaus has been missing a lot of things, recently.

“Seven out of ten for effort, but only a two on style.” Ben says lightly, causing a spluttered laugh to burst out of Klaus, opening his eyes to grin at Ben, who wears an apprehensive, but genuine smile.

An olive branch.

“Ok, you do better.”

“Not a chance.”

“Haven’t learnt any ghostly moved from beyon-” He cuts off with a yelp as bone-deep thunder rocks the house, loud enough to make the objects in the cupboards rattle. 

The walls practically shiver, shaking in their foundations as if riding through an earthquake, and the sky outside decides now is a good time to go absolutely nuts with flashes of lightning that streak across his vision like a poorly lit rave.

“What the-” Ben stands, twisting around before quickly ducking as a pot goes souring clear over his head, lobbing itself at the wall where it promptly sticks like metal to a magnet.

Rolling from the table, Klaus lands in a heap on the floor, peering up at Ben as the kitchen knives embed themselves in the poster detailing parts of a chicken. Footsteps run on the floorboards upstairs.

“What’s going on?” Klaus yells, clambering to his feet yet keeping low in case of unidentified flying objects. More thunder rumbles, strange and not quite right in a way that Klaus can’t put his finger on.

Ben seems just as lost, his mouth opening and closing a few times with failed attempts at an explanation. In another room, something tips over and smashes, the glass scattering like a thousand marbles, and the windows rattle dangerously in the panes.

Eventually, his brother settles on an intelligent, “No idea!”

Shouting starts up outside, the familiar sounds of their siblings yelling over the wind and storm. Sharing a glance with Ben, Klaus shrugs and staggers in the vague direction of the commotion, shoving open the doors leading to the courtyard. Leaves and litter swirl as if caught in a tornado, and, lifting a hand to shield his eyes from the dust and debris, Klaus blinks through it to stare a little beyond the crowd.

“What the fuck is that?”

Diego turns. “Nice of you to join us!”

Above them, swirling bright, electric blue, is a vortex, cracking and snapping at the air as if a thousand volts charge throughout it. In a bizarre way, it reminds Klaus of a plasma ball, hundreds of fizzing stands reaching like raking fingers to caress the air, an odd beauty among the madness.

Luther throws his arm thrown out, keeping everyone back, and Diego is quick to mimic the action, glaring at Luther as if _this_ is the problem they should be addressing right now.

Beside him, Ben makes a noise. 

Ben, historically, makes a lot of noises. There is the _this is a bad idea_ noise, and the _seriously_ noise, not to mention _that was really cute_ and _Klaus do something to get this situation under control_. After so many years together, they have mastered the art of nonverbal communication, something that came in handy when trying to discuss things not meant for the ears of a small person.

This noise, however, grabs Klaus’ attention over the racket and confusion, making him swivel his head and zone in on Ben’s contorted face.

“What?”

“Does…” Ben trails off, his eyes flickering. “Does that…”

They all yelp as the spiralling mass lurches, the skin of it stretching and morphing, spreading out like dough under a rolling pin. Luther and Diego jump back, pushing them all as they do, and Klaus barely has time to catch Vanya’s shoulders as she topples into his chest.

“Woah! Easy-”

Energy sparks as if an overloaded socket, thunder trembling the ground and lightning zapping wild. A dark shape manifests in the centre, fuzzy and undefined, slowly growing in size like a shark emerging from the deep dark depths and bolting up to the surface. 

“Should we run?” Allison panics, grabbing onto Luther’s hand desperately.

“Oh my God…” Ben whispers, and it’s a miracle that Klaus can hear him through the whistling wind in his ears. “Oh my _God_ , Klaus!”

“What?” Snapping his head towards him in panic, Klaus eyes his brother, lost and not at all following whatever the hell is going through his head. _“What?”_

He glances back to the thing.

Then suddenly he gets it.

The shape is not a shape. It is a person.

A small person, slowly pushing their way through the blue. 

Blue Klaus is slowly realising he recognises.

“Holy _shit_ …”

Then, as if nothing had happened and it was all just some random fever dream, it stops, and the small, dark haired, slightly lanky person drops to the ground like a stone in water. All their heads follow it, moving in perfect sync, and their mouths part with mute questions.

The silence following such a manic moment is loud in Klaus’ eardrums, but not nearly as booming as the thudding coming from within his chest, pumping like a drummer on ecstasy. His breathing mars his hearing, sounding fast, terrified, and unintentionally his grip on Vanya’s shoulders tightens to the point that she starts to wiggle in protest.

The person pushes themselves up with a low groan, the sleeves of a dark, professional suit falling over their hands as they clamber unsteadily onto their knees, and then to their feet.

“Klaus, holy fuck, _Klaus!”_ Ben’s voice is high pitched, excited and shocked and confused and so, unbelievably _happy._

The world feels as if it is tipping, stumbling over itself and plastering the planet at a lopsided angle.

His fingers feel numb, in fact, his _whole body_ does, tingling with little pinpricks of sensation that make Klaus hold his breath, his mouth sucking dry. This could be the drugs, by this point he’s on so many it’s hard to keep track of what exactly each one does, but at the same time, it could easily be something else too.

What the something else _is_ , Klaus has no idea, but either way, the universe may have just done something spectacular for once in his life.

“Does anyone else see Number Five, or is it just me?” Klaus possibly asks, but he’s not sure, because he’s currently floating about three miles off the ground.

“Yeah, there’s…There’s a kid.” Vanya confirms, her cool hands reaching to try and pry his fingers off her.

“Klaus, they can see him!” Ben’s voice is urgent, his brother walking straight through everyone to hover beside Five. “He’s not with me, he’s here!”

“Oh.” He nods, quiet and small.

Then Klaus is running. He might have accidentally thrown Vanya, but at this point he can barely care, because before Five can so much as brace himself Klaus is scooping him up in the tightest grip he can manage. He snatches him up by his middle, hefting him up with Five’s feet dangling off the ground, and Klaus presses his head deep into _his son’s_ chest, breathing in.

His son, who is whole and solid and _alive._

“You’re here.” He croaks, hitching wetly. “Holy shit, you’re here! You’re alive! Five!”

Ben is laughing somewhere nearby.

Five is awkward, not quite returning the hug but not fighting him either, simply resting his forehead against Klaus’ shoulder and lightly holding onto his coat.

“Hi, Dad.”

Five is talking. His voice is the best melody Klaus has ever heard.

“I can’t believe it. Wait, hang on.” Setting Five on the ground, he dismisses the strange look that passes over Five’s face in favour of patting him down. “Are you hurt? You fell from all the way up there! What was that? How did you-”

“Oh.” Five says, looking at his hands, and then down at himself. “Shit.”

Klaus panics a little. “What hurts? How’s your energy levels? I could get you something.”

Five swallows, and large blue eyes gaze into Klaus’, something unreadable within them.

“I’m not the Five you know, Dad.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There! Are you all happy now?
> 
> Small note: If I change one (1) thing about The Week Of Much Trauma, then everything falls apart because it’s all connected. Things also get skewed when you stick with only focusing on certain points of view (i.e. Klaus, Ben, and Five.) So, unless I state otherwise, everything is happening as it does in canon. For example, Diego and Luther have had their ‘Where’s the monocole?’ talk in Reginald’s room. I ask you please just roll with everything, and assume that what is meant to be happening, is.
> 
> [Tumblr](https://ancientstone.tumblr.com/)


	19. 7th January 2006

****

**7th January 2006**

The people upstairs are banging, and not in the D.I.Y sense.

The people below are having an argument over what TV channel to watch, something that is ultimately pointless seeing as there’s only one option because the rooms don’t have the remotes.

In the corner, a woman weeps quietly, her head smeared with blood and her clothes something from the ‘70s. They probably are, anyway, Klaus isn’t great on historical fashion.

Bouncing Five over his shoulder, Klaus paces up and down.

“Ben.” He pleads, meeting the eyes of his brother perched on the edge of the squeaky, stained bed. “Help.”

“Keep rubbing his back.” Gnawing at his lip, Ben’s solid words are betrayed by the young expression on his face. “I think it’s helping.”

Five wheezes.

“God, that sound.” Rolling his eyes skyward, Klaus continues walking, his fingers soothing the back of the baby grow Five has been dressed in for four days now. It’s too big for him, but it’s warm, which is the main thing. “I hate it so much.”

Ben stands, his hands faffing at his sides as he watches them. “It’s just a little cough, he’ll…” He breaks off, his face pinching, and Klaus shakes his head, turning on his heel to pace back towards the door again.

The motel is dingy, useful for one thing and one thing only, going by the noises coming from upstairs. Wallpaper peels, revealing old miscellaneous marks on what were once white walls, and as he walks Klaus focusses his gaze adamantly off the floor in fear of what he will find underfoot. Despite the arches of his feet aching, he has kept his shoes firmly on.

In his humble opinion, the price for the room is a complete rip off, but the thought of having Five outside for another night, especially when he is already so poorly, is too much for either him or Ben to bear. The streets are dodgy places to hang around, filled with unsavoury people wandering in the dark, and it’s hard to keep a low profile with an infant’s coughs and cries echoing down the alleyways.

The money he originally took from home ran out ages ago, because babies are expensive and they have constantly fluctuating needs and wants, and no amount of skimping and saving was ever going to make it last long enough to find somewhere steady to stay.

Not for the first time, Klaus thinks of home.

It’s nearly eleven at night, so by this point his siblings have all been sent off to bed like good little boys and girls, patted on the head by Mom and tucked in tight. Dinner would have been warm and expertly cooked, perhaps chicken or beef, and they would have listened to Mr Whatever discuss ways to stay alive in extreme conditions.

Meanwhile, Klaus is here, under a flickering bulb with only a bag of belongings, trying to get his son to sleep as he splutters.

A pity, really, there were no records on baby care and homelessness.

Five fusses, uncomfortable and overtired, his face wet and his hair soft from the bath he took in the sink. All his other clothes have been washed, and now hang precariously on the piece of string Klaus set up across the bathroom, drip drying at room temperature.

Klaus also bathed in the sink, because he didn’t trust the gunk at the bottom of the bathtub within an inch of his life.

“Hey, hey, c’mon, shh.” Bouncing Five gently, he presses his cheek against Five’s head. “Easy, Hawaii Five-O.”

“He’s going to hate that nickname as he gets older.” Ben says absently, glancing towards the woman in the corner as she makes a choking noise.

Turning on his heel, Klaus starts towards the bathroom again. “He’ll love it.”

A bug, gross and crunchy and with far too many legs, scurries across his path to wiggle under the bed, and they both pause to stare at it, and then share a look.

Ben clears his throat. “Do you think he’s hungry?”

Klaus shakes his head. “He had his bottle half an hour ago, and we need more formula, by the way. Don’t let me forget.”

“Right.” Ben nods, determination written across his face. They lost their notepad last week, forcing them to rely on memory alone to remember what they need. “What about a change?”

“You literally watched me change him fifteen minutes ago.”

“Oh.” Deflating, Ben shuffles. “Right.”

Klaus tries not to feel bad at the dejected expression that flashes before Ben can control it back, pursing his lips and spinning around to walk towards the door again. Five complains against him, his little hands bunched against Klaus’ dirty shirt, his body shuddering as he coughs. 

Trying to work off his instincts, because Ben likes to nag him to listen to those, Klaus pauses in his pacing, adjusting to start rocking Five on the spot again. Five’s feet kick against his chest, his head shifting about over his shoulder.

“Wait, Klaus, keep doing that.” Ben’s voice is hushed, and he quickly joins them, hovering by his elbow with wide eyes. “I think he likes it.”

“Likes it excitement or likes it enough to settle? Because I don’t want him to get worked up.” 

That was a mistake they made in the first few days, because in their heads _happy_ meant _good_ and _content_ , which meant _sleep_. However, after several nights of unrest, of pacing hotel lobbies and getting staff sent to their room to issue complaints, they realised that babies don’t work like that, and instead of _happy_ they needed _tired_ , because when Five is tired he will drift off.

At the moment, Five is more than tired. He has been up most of the day, either in the baby sling Klaus found or tucked in his arms, and getting him proper naps is difficult when they don’t have a quiet room to lay him in, away from the noise and the chaos outside. 

The coughing, however, is preventing him from slipping off, jerking his small body as he wheezes and sniffles. The distress it causes doesn’t help either, but it’s hard to explain to an infant that calming down will help.

“Settle, I think.” Ben bites at his lip again. “Don’t stop.”

None of this would have happened if it wasn’t for Dad.

They wouldn’t be homeless, they wouldn’t be counting the pennies they have and prioritising Five’s formula over Klaus eating, and they most certainly wouldn’t be out in the cold winter air, where Five can get chilled and scared and sick. 

Swaying, Klaus tries to swallow down the heated resentment that rises like bile, squeezing his eyes shut and continuing to shush Five. 

They could be at _home_ , right now, in the warmth, in a house that was free of bugs and germs. Neither of them would be hungry, and they could be getting on with the things fathers and sons do together.

It physically hurts when Klaus thinks about that, all the things he _should_ be doing.

He could be taking photographs, documenting Five’s growth from month to month. He could be taking him on trips out, to the park or the zoo, and his siblings could all be joining in, bonding over the little bundle that had miraculously appeared in their lives.

If the world was an ideal, perfect place, Dad would have taken Klaus under his wing and taught him all he would ever need to know to bring up Five, guide him in the way a _real_ father would on how to look after his son.

Occasionally, when they are caught in the rain, and Klaus has to trek across the city to find somewhere for them to sleep for the night, he wonders if Five would have been better off with his mother.

Jesus, Klaus can barely remember her name.

“He’s getting quieter.” Ben whispers, apparently forgetting that he’s dead and Five can’t hear him, and probably never will.

Klaus doesn’t say anything, in fear of breaking whatever lull Five has drifted into, simply nodding instead.

In an ideal world, their father would be a father, and Ben would still be alive.

“Um…” Glancing towards the bed, Ben eyes the pathetic excuse of a blanket that has been thrown over to hide the mattress stains. “Maybe we should prop him up? Like with a cushion or something? Sitting up seems to help.”

Licking his lips, Klaus carefully moves towards the bed, holding Five against him with one hand and reaching for the cleanest of the pillows with the other.

“Please don’t be bugs.” He mutters, already prepared to flinch away in case a swarming nest is revealed. “Please no more bugs.”

His face scrunched, Ben leans back, his shoulders hunched and his hands fisted as he waits for Klaus to buck up the courage to move.

Five sniffs wetly.

Slowly lifting the pillow up, both brothers breathe a sigh of relief as nothing goes running, flying, or scattering when the hiding place is revealed. Klaus has never been a religious person, but he still mouths a silent thank you up at the ceiling, hopefully bypassing the very active couple overhead to reach the clouds beyond.

Placing the pillow in the centre of the bed, Klaus carefully pries Five away from his body, holding him in both hands in front of him just in case he starts crying again and needs a few more minutes of hugs.

He doesn’t, his round cheeks tear-stained and his eyes drooping. His hair is mussed from constantly brushing against Klaus’ jaw. 

“Careful.” Ben hovers, and Klaus sends him a brief glare as he gently settles Five against the cushion, his bottom on the mattress so he’s propped up. He coughs once, and his head nods.

The voice across the room startles them both. 

“Don’t do that.”

Yelping, Ben jumps closer to Klaus, who bites back his own yell by gritting his teeth hard, slipping his hands out from under Five to place once over his heart. He sends a pleading glance to Ben, before turning to the woman.

“Can you not?” He hisses, indicating to Five. “He’s just gone to sleep, nearly.”

“Don’t have him at an angle.” The woman says, still huddled in the corner but no longer crying. She regards the three of them, a blankness to her eyes that makes Klaus want to take a step back. “It’s dangerous.”

Ben frowns. “Dangers how? It’s helping his cough.”

She shrugs, pushing back her hair from her face. “It might be, but it increases the chance of sudden infant death syndrome.”

“Sudden infant…” Trailing off, Klaus’ gaze darts between her and Five, a new panic forming in his chest. “Wait, do kids just randomly die?”

Once more she shrugs, her body language apathetic and unbothered by the potentially crucial information she is giving them. Ben is staring at Five, as if he will simply drop dead if they so much as sneeze in the wrong direction, and the look he gives him is terrified, vulnerable, and Klaus is suddenly struck by the fact that they are both only seventeen.

They have no clue what they are doing.

Sudden infant death syndrome.

Klaus might be sick.

“Thank you.” He says weakly, moving to adjust Five so he’s flat on his back, the pillow now laid out as a barrier between him and the edge of the bed.

The woman merely blinks and starts weeping again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: The author actually gets on with it!
> 
> [Tumblr](https://ancientstone.tumblr.com/)


	20. 24th March 2019

****

**24th March 2019**

Five sits in the chair, and for a first time in recent memory, he feels very, very small.

Dad potters about the kitchen, his eyes meandering from his task of fixing up a peanut butter and marshmallow sandwich to glance towards him, his face shining in such a way that Five’s body recoils from it, his stomach twisting grossly among his guts like a slug.

He is unused to this.

 _Desensitised_ , is probably the word.

The sheer amount of _love_ radiating from his Dad at the moment, and probably Uncle Ben too, is almost dizzying, enough to make his brain spin within his skull. 

Five knew his father loved him, _of course_ he knew, but it has been such a long time, and so many things have happened since their last hug and conversation. Now it almost feels as if the arms wrapped around his shoulders, or soft pressed kisses to his forehead, or gentle, encouraging words, were all nothing more than a fever dream, some fantasy place his mind made up to cope with the horrors.

Dad thinks he is still thirteen.

Well, to be accurate, _nearly_ thirteen. Five disappeared two months before his birthday.

Whatever his physical age is, Five cannot afford to become distracted, to let his Dad whisk him away and deviate Five from his main task. He has a job to do, one he fought tooth and nail simply to gain the _opportunity_ to complete, to stumble now would be deadly.

Five is going to have to break his own father’s heart just to save tow world.

The other side of the room, huddled together around the end of the table as if Five was some exotic pet his Dad let out of the cage to terrify houseguests, are his other uncles and aunties. It is strange to think that he has seen them all before, be it as a corpse or on the back of a book, and knows Vanya’s intimate thoughts, yet they have never formally met.

Apart from when he was a baby.

That barely counts.

Diego is watching Five with uncertainty, unsurprising seeing as Five was declared dead after his little time travel stunt, going by Dad’s declarations outside. There is a certain degree of mistrust in his eyes, hilarious considering this is the man who never bothered to help his brother, a struggling single father, for the entirety of Five’s childhood.

Vanya is also looking distrustful, but going by what Five knows of her, this is probably her resting face.

That might be a cruel thing to think, but the fact that she all but told the world his Dad was a child floozy, Five was the result of a one night stand, and his name was not something specially picked but rather dictated by Reginald Hargreeves, means Five has only reserved sympathy for her.

Thank goodness Claire seemed to be a missed target.

Sitting up straight, squaring his shoulders under their attention, Five asks, “What’s the date? The _exact_ date?”

“Oh, um…” Blinking several times, his Dad glances around the kitchen, as if a calendar will just magically appear out of nowhere. “The twenty-something-”

“Twenty-fourth.” Luther snaps, scowling at his Dad. “Jesus, Klaus.”

His Dad titters, waving Luther off and sliding the sandwich across the table towards him. Dad stands back and purses his lips, as if waiting for Five’s judgement, and Five tries to hide the eyeroll his body urges him to do, taking the offering and biting into the sugary mess.

It is foul, vile, goop that sticks to the roof of his mouth and refuses to be swallowed down. He practically gags at it.

It tastes of _home_.

Five does not move to take another mouthful.

“Am I the only one who’s confused?” Allison asks the room, glancing between Five and Dad. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing that concerns _you_.” Five huffs, setting down the uneaten half of the sandwich. “Dad, I need to talk to Uncle Ben.”

“Oh.” Dad hums, and then adds, sheepish, “Um, Five-”

“Wait, _Ben?”_ Standing, Luther mirrors everyone with his scowl. “Klaus, tell me you didn’t-”

Five cuts him of by standing as well, his chair scraping noisily on the floor. “I don’t have time for this! Dad, can I talk to Uncle Ben? _Please_ , it’s _important_.”

“Um, well, ah, the thing is, Hawaii Five-O…” Dad rubs his hands together, and Five tries not to flinch at the nickname. “I kind of…I’m not entirely-”

“He’s high.” Luther supplies, turning an apologetic gaze towards Five. “I’m sorry. Ben isn’t here, either, it’s just something your Dad likes to say. He shouldn’t have fed you fantasies-”

“Seriously?” Raising an eyebrow at his Dad, Five tries not to scoff. “You’re high? Then sober up, fast. Preferably right now. We’ve got things to do.”

Diego makes a noise. “Hey, watch your tone. That’s your Dad, and he’s been through a lot in the last few months.”

There is no time for this. There are so many things that need to be done, that Five needs to organise and sort, because the weight of the literal world sits on his shoulders, and if he breathes too deeply then he can still taste the stink of smoke and ash and rotting flesh.

“A few months?” Leaning on the table, Five smiles at Diego, but it does not reach his eyes. “Great. Then get over your _few months_ because they’re done now. There are bigger things at stake than some bruised egos.”

“Hey, hey, Five.” Dad snaps his fingers, drawing Five’s attention back to him. “Calm down, buddy, I think you’re tired, perhaps you could-”

They all jump as Five slams his fist into the table. “I’m am _not_ some thirteen-year-old _baby_ , so _don’t_ patronise me. It might have been a _few months_ for you, but it’s been a hell of a lot longer for me. I miscalculated my jump to get back, and I got stuck looking like this. Has everyone got it?”

The room goes silent, almost to the point of being stifling, everyone in the room staring at Five like he is some sick display in a circus, grotesque and horrifying. Dad has his hand over his mouth, gnawing away at the nail of his thumb with eyes that blaze with concern and worry, and for the briefest of moments Five thinks he sees a wave of _grief_ pass through them as well.

Five, without thinking, challenges those eyes.

He stands tall, meeting love with defiance, willing his Dad to see him for what he is, who he is, and who he is not. Five has experienced a whole lifetime without him, years that stretched out bleakly beyond his hopes of returning, his hopes of being reunited with his _family_.

Five tries not to let the seething rage within him emerge as his Dad finally asks, “How long has it been for you, then?”

The question is light and airy, humouring the poor little tyke who has been through something traumatic and needs coddling by his father. There is no real grasp of the situation behind it, no hint of the weight within his seemingly innocent words.

“I’m fifty-eight years old.” The statement is delivered straight, unwavering, daring anyone to argue with him.

“Wait,” One of his aunts says, and Five does not look to see who. “How does that work?”

He smiles again. “Well, I had to project my consciousness forward into a suspended quantum state version of myself that exists across every possible instance of time. Apparently, I went _wrong_ somewhere.”

“That makes no sense.” Diego states.

“Well, it would if you were smarter.”

“Ok, ok,” Darting between Diego and Five, which is pointless considering there is a _table_ between them, Dad pushes Diego back and waves calming hands. “You know what? I’m going to go have a chat with Five, spend some quality father-son time, why don’t you guys get on with stuff? Do the whole _ashes to ashes_ thing?”

“Wait, do you know?” Luther asks. “About Dad? Um, your granddad?”

“I couldn’t give a _fuck_ about Reginald Hargreeves.”

“Yep, time to head off, buddy.” Zipping around the table, Dad takes Five’s shoulders and the half-eaten sandwich and forcefully steers him from the room, pushing Five all the way upstairs until they enter to what must have been his room when he was a child.

It is a mess.

“This is a mess.”

“Thanks, I try.” Guiding Five towards the bed, Dad sits down and waits expectantly for Five do the same. 

Five ponders refusing for a moment, but eventually he relents. Dad reaches to stroke at his hair, tucking a strand behind his ear. His face turns sad when Five pulls away, taking the now very handled sandwich as he does simply to give his hands something to do.

Dad hums, his fingertips tapping rhythmically against his arm.

“What was all that about, Five? All that in the kitchen? You can’t talk to people like that, I know I brought you up better.”

Five cannot hold in the snort. “Seriously? After all this time, I finally get back and you’re concerned that I’m being _rude?_ There’s bigger things to be worried about at the moment.”

“You keep saying that.” Tilting his head, Dad, studies him with strangely focused eyes. “What’s going on? What should we be worried about?”

The ash, and the bugs, and the corpses.

The rubble that burns for weeks, filling the skies with thick clouds of smoke and dust. 

The polluted water, and the toxic ground, and the factories that spill black across the landscape like a painter whiting over a piece of artwork. 

Dad takes his hand, gently peeling the squashed sandwich from his grip and tossing it towards the bin. “You can tell me Five. Please? You can always tell me anything.”

“Is Uncle Ben here?”

Pursing his lips, Dad’s gaze flickers to the corner of the room. “Yeah, yeah he is. But I can’t…”

“You’re _high_.” Five shakes his head but allows Dad to continue squeezing his hand. “I can’t believe you’re high. I was under the impression you’ve been sober since I was born.”

Dad frowns, face turning sour. “Do you-”

“Vanya’s book, I found it in the library that was still standing.”

“Oh.” Swallowing Dad, shuffles closer. “So…You know…”

“I know everything. My name, about…About my birth mother. You.”

An arm reaches around him, fingers clutching onto the material of Five’s too big suit. “Five, I’m _so_ sorry. I was going to tell you, I truly was, but-”

“It doesn’t matter now.” Five brushes off, dislodging himself from the hold and standing, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “What matters is the next eight days.”

Propped up on the bed as if he had tumbled over when Five stood, Dad looks up at him. “Next eight days?” He gulps, and then gains his voice. “Five, tell me. You know you can talk to me.”

Five works his jaw, his nails digging into his palm. “The world ends in eight days. It’s…It’s where I went when Reginald shocked me.”

Dad gets to his feet, hovering around Five but not reaching out to touch again. “Where you went?”

“This is why I need Uncle Ben.” Five looks anywhere but his Dad. “I can jump through _time_ , and at the end of the week, life as we know it gets obliterated off the face of the planet.” He forces his voice harder, sterner. “So sober up. We don’t have long.”

“Get’s wiped off-” A knock on the door cuts Dad off, and they both startle at the sight of Luther in the doorway.

“Um, we’re going to have the funeral now, if you want to come out and…” He makes an awkward gesture towards the corridor.

“No.” Five states, meeting Luther’s eyes. “Not, we’re not. In fact, I’m about to get changed, so you can fuck off.”

“Five.” Dad chastises, his face so lost and nervous and _hurt_ that Five is forced to keep his gaze on Luther. Dad sighs. “Look, you guys go on without us, we’re still talking.”

Without waiting for Luther to respond, Five marches forward and slams the door in his face. When he turns, Dad’s expression is cross, not angry, he is too elated at Five’s presence to be angry, but he is struggling to understand.

Five speaks before he can say anything. “You have anything for me to change into?”

Glancing towards the corner of the room and back again, Dad bites his lip and silently spins on his heel, leaning down to drag out a familiar Umbrella Academy bag from under the bed. He places it down on the sheets, unzipping it and rifling through.

When he catches glimpse at his schoolbooks, Five turns away.

“Here.” Dad offers, holding out the sweater. “I, um-”

“Not that.” Five shakes his head firmly, his eyes trailing over to the wardrobe. He walks over, adding as he opens it up, much quieter, “That sweater doesn’t belong to me anymore. This’ll do.”

The uniform is not the most practical of things to pick, but there is little else on offer his size. Not to mention that in comparison to the childhood sweater, the uniform is impersonal, something distinctly not his, and it is probably the only thing on hand that will not make his stomach churn and his skin prickle.

“Oh.” Is all Dad can muster to say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of the hardest things about this chapter was to remember to refer to Klaus as ‘Dad’ within the text.
> 
> Five: I love all my family. Dad, Uncle Ben *squints at smudged hand* a-allisun, lethal, dingo, and van hire.
> 
> [Tumblr](https://ancientstone.tumblr.com/)


	21. 24th March 2019

****

**24th March 2019**

Klaus is, admittedly, panicking the _fuck out_ right now.

Five is back.

Five is here.

Five is swearing his goddamn mouth off at everyone.

Ben is doing better, all things considered, and as Klaus steers Five along he whittles away things about _trauma_ and _projecting_ and _making up things to cope_ , but Klaus can only half listen. The buzz of drugs is still swirling around his system, and technically speaking he is due his next high soon, meaning that things are just a bit too fuzzy around the edges for him to be able to concentrate on more than one thing at a time.

At the moment, he has Five in his arms, and absolutely nothing else stands a chance at having his undivided attention.

Klaus takes Five to Griddy’s.

This is mainly to get Five out the house, because his siblings all came back from the funeral damp and grouchy, barking things at one another and shooting mean words, and Five continues to be a little seething ball of energy. Their first impression has already gone sour, the last thing they need is to make that even worse.

Five mutters to himself as Klaus guides him into the familiar diner, sitting them both down at the stools. Rolling his eyes, Five dings the bell, tutting then no one immediately arrives.

Ben decides to place himself the other side of the counter, sending Klaus a pointed look. “Talk to him!”

Klaus clears his throat. “So, Hawaii Five-O.” He tries to ignore the way Five shifts uncomfortably at the nickname. “This, um, end of times thing you were talking about-”

Ben groans. “Oh, Jesus Klaus.” 

“Sorry!” Someone calls before Klaus can continue, the sweet voice of the pink-clad waitress filling the otherwise empty diner. She stops in front of them and pulls out a notebook. “The sink was clogged. What can I get you boys?”

“Well, _I’ll_ have a chocolate milkshake.” Klaus grins.

“How do you plan on paying for this?” Ben asks beside the woman, _Agnes_ , according to the nametag. “You’ve spent all your money on drugs.”

“Sure.” Agnes nods. “Can I get the kid a glass of milk, or something?”

“The kid wants coffee. Black.” 

The statement makes everyone turn to stare at Five, Klaus frowning deeply because _Christ on a cracker_ he has never known Five like this before. It’s almost unnerving, and not in a good, trippy drug kind of way.

As if it will make his bluntness better, Five smiles, a touch too manically.

Glancing between them, Agnes turns away and starts preparing their order.

Gnawing at the edge of his lip, Klaus leans over, dropping his voice low to whisper, “Hey, Five, I know you’re…I know things have been hard, but you can’t keep talking to everyone like this. I want to let it go, I really do, but it’s getting a bit much now.”

Sucking in a deep breath, Five closes his eyes and hold it, his twisting hands on his lap betraying the hidden frustrations Five seems to be trying to hold back. Klaus and Ben share a glance, and that short second is enough for Five to be standing and moving to march out the diner altogether.

“No, Five, wait!” Grabbing the sleeve of the uniform, Klaus waits until Five meets his eyes. “Don’t leave. _Please_ don’t leave. I…”

Somewhat awkwardly, Agnes reappears, setting down their drinks and looking to Klaus expectantly. He blinks.

“She wants to be paid, Klaus.” Ben supplies, but his eyes are on Five, who’s still hovering, still on his toes ready to bolt.

“Oh, sorry, one sec.” Reluctantly letting Five go, Klaus pats his body down, feeling passed the drugs and the cigarettes for loose change, perhaps a few notes. “Hang on, give me a moment.” 

He strikes lucky, finding a crumpled few dollars in the bottom of his inside coat pocket, handing them over to Agnes with a smile.

She takes it politely. “Nice tattoo.”

“Thanks, darlin’.” He winks, and she laughs, her heels clacking as she heads off towards a back office.

With a sigh that can only be described as longsuffering, Five sits back on the stool, purposefully ignoring Klaus as he tugs the black coffee towards him. As Klaus takes his straw and twirls it around his milkshake, the clang of the bell above the door echoes behind them, footsteps entering in through the door.

Klaus doesn’t bother to look their way, drinking down half his shake in a few eager gulps and getting brain freeze because of it. Wincing, he pushes his fingers into the skin of his forehead, massaging the sharp numbing pain away.

Then, in the corner of his vision, Five stiffens, a rock solid little statue that automatically puts Klaus on edge, and in front of them Ben takes a startled step back, a distressed expression flashing over his face.

“Klaus-”

“Alright kid, you’re coming with us. They want to talk.”

Dropping the straw, Klaus whips around on the stool, making it squeak sharply, his mouth open to demand who the hell they think they are. 

He was expecting bullies, or thugs, or run-of-the-mill petty thieves looking to break into the till.

That isn’t who he meets.

Klaus’ words wither and die on his tongue, and he gulps, wide eyed, at the five goons surrounding them, dressed in complete back and aiming guns towards his son. They give Klaus sidelong longs, but it’s clear that they don’t perceive him as any kind of threat.

Stumbling to his feet in an ungraceful attempt to instinctively stick himself between the weapons and Five, Klaus instantly stops when one glares at him in warning, his gun clicking in a way that dictates he doesn’t move another muscle or face the consequences.

Five, his amazing, beautiful, brilliant son, _smirks._

“What the hell?” Ben whispers behind him, and Klaus is inclined to agree.

“I thought I would have more time before you found me.” The statement is casual, breezy, as if everything about this situation is fine. 

Klaus eyes swivel around to stares uncomprehendingly at Five, his mouth gaping, brain boggled and slightly too high to fully catch onto whatever the hell he is watching play out.

“No funny business. You think I want to shoot a kid?” Head goon spits. “Go home with that on my conscience?”

The expression on Five’s face is so calm, so neutral, so sickeningly different from his _child_ that it makes Klaus pause, his palms sticky with sweat and his ears beating with a steadily rising heartbeat. The way Five holds himself, slides his hand across to the cutlery, morphs his lips from a knowing smirk to a gleeful smile, it sends a bolt of lightning down Klaus’ spine, forcing every hair on his body stand out on its very end.

It reminds him of Reginald.

“I wouldn’t worry.” Five brushes off, his chin high. “You won’t be going home.”

Then, there is chaos.

There is a smack of blue, sharp and buzzing and directly in Klaus’ face, and then head goon is yelling, collapsing forward onto the countertop in a spurt of hot red. Bullets shatter through the air, and years of training with the Academy take over, forcing Klaus to drop to the ground among the stools.

“Five?” Phasing straight through the solid surface of the counter, Ben weaves between them, tense and panicked. “Five!”

“Hey, assholes!” Everyone in the room spins at the voice, clocking eyes onto the figure reclined across the table. 

Guns blaze in response, smashing into the lights and walls, but just as quickly as he arrived, Five vanishes again. The goons keep shooting at the empty space, wrecking tables and chairs needlessly, and this is enough to tell Klaus that they don’t fully understand Five’s powers.

A hand wraps around his ankle, and Klaus yelps.

“Dad, shut up!” Five hisses, ducked down around the corner of the counter out of sight, attempting to drag Klaus towards him. “Hide already!”

“What’s-”

“There!” A voice yells, and Klaus barely registers Five jumping again before there is a pained grunt and startled cry behind him. Shoes squeak loudly on the floor, the sickly sound of blood splattering making Klaus’ body shudder.

Crawling around to where Five was trying to drag him, Klaus crouches low behind the counter, kneeling up just enough to peek over the top.

Ben hovers at his side. “What the hell happened to him, Klaus?”

He doesn’t have a clue.

Five finishes strangling the man with the Academy tie, the body going limp and lifeless sprawled across the table, and proceeds to stab a man in the groin and eye with a pencil. His movements are quick, efficient, trained.

It’s as if Klaus is floating, drifting along on the worst trip imaginable. It’s as if the drugs have cracked open his skull like a watermelon, prying through his thoughts and memories to concoct the most vile, twisted images possible, dazzling him with flashes of blood and screams and the sounds of bones snapping.

The last two go down, the result of their own idiotic fire, and Five lands out of a jump, bending to rest his hands on his knees. His shoulders rise and fall heavily, the exhaustion clear on his face, sweat dampening his brow.

Apart from the buzz of flickering lights, the diner is silent. 

Klaus slowly stands, eyeing the carnage, and then turns to Five.

Swallowing deeply, Five staggers upright and retrieves his tie from the dead man’s neck, tilting his head back to put it on once more. His son does not meet his searching, terrified gaze, instead huffing with annoyance at the man attempting to pull himself along the floor, a trail of smeared blood sluggishly spilling out on the once clean tiles. 

Five meanders over, dragging his feet a little.

“Oh my God.” Ben realises before Klaus. “Five, no-”

The breaking of vertebrae cuts him off, and they both jump at the sound, bile rising in the back of Klaus’ throat. Without a word to acknowledge what he’s just done, Five pats the dead man down, pulling out a knife from a back pocket and blinking object.

“Five…” Klaus’ voice is weak, scared, and as Five walks up to the counter Klaus finds himself forcing his body not to shrink back. “Five, what…”

“Sorry you had to see that.” Five finally peeks up at him through dishevelled hair and is quick to look away again. He lays his arm out on the table along with the object, which Klaus can now see is a tracking device, and rolls up his sleeve. “As I said, I’m not the Five you know.”

Klaus might just vomit. 

In the corner of the room, one of the dead men stands, glancing around uncertainly. Half his hip is stuck transparently through a table.

“You’re fifty-eight years old.” His mouth says before his brain can fully comprehend. As the statement hits the air, the true _weight_ of the words collides with Klaus’ chest, wrapping around his sternum and tugging. “Holy shit, Five…What…I don’t…”

“He’s telling the truth.” Ben breathes, gawping at Five in an entirely new light. “Klaus, he’s telling the truth. The…The time travel, the age thing, _shit_ , he was talking about the end of the _world_ -”

“Five!” Cutting Ben off, Klaus all but yells, “What are you _doing?”_

Five doesn’t answer as he slides the blade deep into his arm, Klaus’ hands flitting around him uselessly as Five tosses the knife over his shoulder and starts digging his fingers into the wound. 

With a satisfied grunt, Five pulls out a tiny, beeping thing, a little green light ticking away at one end.

“How they found me.” Five says in way of explanation, chucking it behind the counter where it clatters to the ground. Grabbing a napkin, Five presses it to the cut and asks, as if nothing ever happened, “Shall we go, then?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Even old new york, was once new amsterdam~~
> 
> [Tumblr](https://ancientstone.tumblr.com/)


	22. 25th March 2019

****

**25th March 2019**

Dad is one drug crash away from a breakdown.

Five can see it in his face, the shocked, pale features beneath the patchy beard, and as he ushers them out of Griddy’s Dad is noticeably less touchy than he was half an hour ago. There are no hugs, no holding him close and guiding him around, hands on his shoulders or his back. Instead, they are practically an arm’s length away form each other, Five taking the lead as he ploughs on down the road.

A lump forms in Five’s chest, thick and tightening, crushing the bone of his sternum in a way that makes his shoulders hunch and jaw lock.

He just needs to get them away from Griddy’s. 

At the moment, this is all that matters. They cannot be there when the police arrive.

Over the tops of the buildings the sun starts to peek, warm orange light shadowing the pavements with columns of black that stretch out like flat skyscrapers. The remnants of the night crowd mill around on street corners, but it is still too early for the morning runners and dog walkers to be up.

Everything is calm, normal. Mundane life continues, ticking by as it always has, and people go about their short lives as if they have all the time in the world. They spread themselves out with the luxury of wasted efforts and meaningless indulgences, drinking themselves silly and leaving it a surprise where they end up the morning after.

It is almost enough to make Five’s insides turn, churning his stomach acid to putrid vile.

Then again, that might just be the pain in his side.

Five did not plan of getting himself shot.

It is only the dawn of his second day back, and there is so much he has yet to achieve, so much to do and organise in order for this normality to keep on lavishing in its luxuries. The ash and the fire are coming, it is practically here, and Five _needs_ to be on top of his game, otherwise he is damning them all to Hell.

Being hurt has consequences. It can overturn the balance between life and death, and when the only thing you can rely on is yourself, then this is a scale you under no circumstances want to tip. Injuries lead to infection, which requires antibiotics, which requires either diminishing already dwindling supplies or travelling to find some.

Five tries not to wince as they walk along, because he does not have the time for the fuss and faff of revealing he is hurt. There is an eyeball in his pocket, and death on the horizon, and absolutely nothing else matters.

He knows what his Dad will think of him. There is no need to contemplate it further.

“Five. _Five_.” Dad calls out, and Five hears his shoes hitting the concrete as he jogs to catch up with him. 

A hand grabs onto his shoulder, forcefully spinning him around. How Five manages to control his face as his side screams and spurts, he has no idea, but he does, looking forcefully impassive up into his father’s open expression.

Dad’s face is scarily white, contorted, pained in a way that makes Five want to wither. His fingers are shaking, digging into the shoulder of the uniform tight enough to hurt, and in the early morning sunlight Five can see a sheen of sweat shining on his skin, running down into his stubbled beard.

Five has rarely been disappointed in himself, but in this moment, he can feel nothing else.

His Dad never wanted Five to become like this, to become like _them_. He did everything in his power to keep Five away from the Umbrella Academy, to make sure their lives were normal, that they had nothing to do with the stupid codenames and teen gossip magazines. Ever since Five was first dumped on their doorstep, Dad has made every sacrifice to give Five a chance in life, to protect him and let him experience the things neither he nor Uncle Ben ever could.

Five repays this by spilling more blood than he can ever wash clean.

He killed in front of his father and Uncle Ben, and they will never be able to move passed it.

If Dad mourned for _him_ , then Five will mourn for _them_.

His side hurts.

“Who were those men?” Dad demands, shock giving way to anger in a strange emotion that flickers over his wide-eyed features. “Why were they after you? Where did…” He struggles, and gestures towards the blood marring the collar of the uniform. “Where did you learn all… _That?”_

Dad used to be so proud of him.

The thought flickers in his head and sends such a wave of pure anguish through his body that it pains Five more than the bullet wounds ever could.

Dad used to be so proud of him. Five did well in school, he was advanced for his age. Together, they had dreams of top grades, and university, and gaining all kinds of additional letters in front and behind his name. He could have been a professor, a teacher, lectured on complex math and science in a way that would make Dad’s brain boggle and Five laugh. 

Five was going to work hard, and get a good paying job, and move them both out to a place without bugs or Mrs Keller wandering in every five minutes. They would have a yard, and multiple rooms, and would never have to worry about making pay checks last long enough to cover rent and water and electricity. 

There had been an entire life out in front of them, in front of him. Maybe he would have found someone and settled down. Maybe he would have been married and raised children of his own. Maybe they could have enjoyed their first ever vacation, a trip abroad to somewhere they have never been before. Perhaps they could have even brought a dog.

Dad used to call him a mini genius.

Now, he sees at Five for what he is. A murderer. A man who has killed without mercy, has taken the lives that make his Dad flinch when their ghosts wander into a room. He has seen Five use his power as a dominating force, tease his victims with it, morphed it from a neat trick he somehow inherited to a weapon against those who seek to get in his way.

Five has sinned, and he will never be forgiven.

Biting his tongue hard enough to nearly be able to taste copper, Five reminds himself of the mantra he whispered every night at The Commission, the one he used when he stayed in dingy motel rooms, curled up on the bed and desperately trying to block out the dying screams of innocent people ringing in his ears.

The ends outweigh the means. A hundred people dead is better than the entire population of the planet. The trolley problem is the only solution, as grotesque and as twisted as it is. 

Taking up The Commission’s deal was the only way for him to get out of the apocalypse, to get the strength and resources he needed to perfect the calculations, to have the energy to bring himself back.

Even Dolores has said, _“Go!”_ when The Handler offered out her hand to him. She knew it was the opportunity he needed, the only chance he would ever have to escape the ash and mortar and get himself home.

The ends must outweigh the means, it _has_ to.

Five does not know what to do with himself if they do not.

Dad takes Five’s silence as impudence and he squeezes his shoulder hard. “Fine. We’re going back to the academy.”

“What? Why?”

Dad blinks at him. “Because we were just _shot at?_ Christ on a cracker, Five, we can’t be running around willy-nilly if there are armed goons on the loose!”

“Well, let’s go _home_ then, we can work out our next move from there.”

The academy is just a large house filled with frustrating people. Meeting them the once was enough, and just the thought of having to put up with their bullshit again makes Five head spin.

That or the blood loss.

Fuck, his body hurts.

“Um, about that.” Retracting his hand, Dad shuffles awkwardly and itches at his arm, but his eyes watch Five closely. “I lost the apartment.”

“What do you mean you _lost_ it?”

“Well, you were gone, and suddenly everything just…” Trailing off, Dad rubs his hands over his face, the heel of his foot tapping rapidly on the pavement. “I just lost it, ok? Can’t you just take my word for it?”

The stress on Dad’s face is jarring, nothing like the controlled troubles he displayed when Five was a child. Here, he is seeing Dad for who he is, the grown adult with a thousand different things weighing on him.

Then, it clicks.

Dad is treating him like an adult.

Dad believes Five is fifty-eight.

Oh.

That is good. Things would only become even more complicated if Dad continues to try and baby him as if Five was a child. This is a good thing; it shall make decisions more practical.

Five shoves the thought away and wills his mind not to think on it.

“So, you’ve been homeless? All this time?” The questions are not said with cruelty, but Dad still flinches anyway. “Jesus, Dad.”

When Dad does not say anything more, merely looking off to the side and probably Uncle Ben, Five allows the topic to drop. Instead of asking as he wants, he stands up straight, ignoring the way heat rushes over the skin of his hip, clinging to the material of the shirt. 

“Well, we’ve still got things to do. We need to get to Meritech-”

“Meritech?”

“It’s a lab, I think.” Five shrugs, feigning an indifference despite the importance of the place. This will only bring more questions and time wasting. “There’s a lot we need to do in a short amount of time, so-”

“Uh-huh. No.” Dad reaches to take Five’s shoulder again. “We’re going to the academy, I’m not letting-”

On an instinct Five does not fully register, he jumps away.

It is, admittedly, a mistake.

He had been aiming to dart out of reach, just beyond Dad’s fingers so he could not be grabbed and dragged away. Dad is not like the goons in Griddy’s, he is not some random man on the street that Five could easily and happily break the wrist of without a second’s thought. If Dad holds him and tries to guide him along, then it is going to be a lot harder to protest and fight the hands away.

He cannot just go around physically hurting his Dad.

While he had been _aiming_ for a little further up the path, where Five _actually_ lands is with a crash down some side alleyway several metres away, where he promptly crumples sideways into a group of trashcans that tip and clatter loudly in the confined space. 

An agony he has not experienced in a while claws at his side, slicing him with razor sharp talons that feel as if they are gutting him. It knocks his breath from his lungs, weakening his body as it sags unceremoniously in a mess of a heap.

“Five?”

Rolling onto his back, Five makes a noise in the back of his throat upon impact, his head jerking as his body greatly protests. If this noise is more of a groan or a whimper, it is near impossible to tell and in truth, he does not particularly care. Around the edges of his vision things have gone alarmingly fuzzy.

“Five? Five!” Dad skids to a stop beside him, landing on his knees to curl a hand under Five’s shoulders, lifting him up from the slightly damp floor. “What’s wrong? Five! Tell me what’s wrong!” There is a pause in which Five is supposed to answer, but it lasts barely a few seconds before Dad barrels through with, “What? Where?” Hands tug up the vest and shirt of the uniform shakily, a kind of furious desperation that Five has only witnessed when family members would find his Commission targets before he had the chance to leave. “ _Shit!_ Five, when did…Why didn’t you _say anything?”_

“We…We don’t have the time.” Pushing weakly against the hands, Five tries to wiggle himself upright. It fails pathetically, the strength of his arms draining with the effort. “There’s too much at stake. We can’t…I…”

“Hey, hey, no, don’t get up.” Dad’s voice is soft, panicked, that calming sound of a parent trying to bring comfort and hide their own terror. His palm spreads against the bullet wounds, pressing hard and making Five gasp, his face twisting in pain. “I know. I _know_ , I’m _sorry_. We gotta stop the bleeding, buddy, we need the academy, o-or Mom.”

Dad glances somewhere, saying something Five cannot hear, and he guesses that must be the vague direction of Uncle Ben. Five tries to tilt his head in that direction, but he is having a hard time controlling his eyesight. It dips towards the ground of a moment, darkening.

Fingers wrap around his chin, forcing his head back to meet Dad’s frantic gaze. The hand is warm and sticky.

“Five! Five, stay with me. Please, _please_ stay with me.” Dad pleads, and from the way he speaks, Five thinks that he might be crying. He is not sure. “Can you say something? Hey? Hawaii Five-O?”

It is such a stupid nickname. When he was little, really little, young enough to still struggle with basic concepts such as _not drawing on the walls_ , Five did not fully understand it. He ended up going to Uncle Ben to work out where it came from and what it meant.

Uncle Ben had found it funny.

“ _Shit_ , Five, stay awake, please don’t go to sleep. You just came back, buddy, we’ve got a lot of things to make up for, right? Five? _Five!”_

Oh, Five realises as he loses the last of his consciousness, his Dad still wants to be around him.

Oh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The art of self-preservation is not known in this family.
> 
> [Tumblr](https://ancientstone.tumblr.com/)


	23. 5th December 2006

****

**5th December 2006**

The roof over their heads is, at the very least, a roof.

The same could be said for the floor. They are lucky to have it, extremely lucky, in fact. Considering every other possible thing it could be at the moment, from some grotty back street to the inside of a recently emptied bin, having a solid, wooden floor is a privilege to feel underfoot.

It has taken a while, far too long in Klaus’ opinion, but they have, at last, a home.

Mostly.

They have a glorified box.

There is no escaping the fact that it’s a dump. In the corners, mold and mildew soak happily in the dank, and the windows whistle every time the wind blows in certain directions. Above them, the ceiling thumps with music, making the dodgy looking lightbulb with exposed wires bounce around precariously on its single hanging point, and Klaus has already counted more bugs than he would care for, which is a lot considering they have been homeless for a year.

However, they have their first home.

 _First_ home specifically, because Klaus plans to have more, down the line. As great as it is to be off the streets and back into a building, this is still a pretty crap environment, especially for little lungs.

Then again, beggars can’t be choosers, and Klaus will happily take something like this over random doorways and street underpasses any day. It also gives them an address, meaning Klaus can finally work and get some income.

Sat on the floor, Five babbles, occasionally throwing in a few half-intelligible words that, according to the baby book they browsed in the library a few months ago, is normal for his age. Five is supposed to be trying to walk by now, going by the chapters they flicked through, and he is, in his own uncoordinated way, but not nearly as strong as Klaus has seen with other babies.

The fact that Five spends the majority of his time in the sling probably doesn’t help.

Not that Klaus has much choice. Sidewalks are filled with all kinds of nasty things, from rocks and pebbles to dog muck and needles and tiny objects that can be grabbed with chubby hands and shoved into mouths to be choked on. Both brothers have had enough heart attacks to last a lifetime, and the yell of, _“What do you have in your mouth?”_ is a familiar one for the small family. 

This dingy little room, with its single mattress and dripping tap, is in no way ideal, but it’s better. 

The bugs, though, are…Interesting.

Unless you sit next to a patch of rotting food, you don’t tend to get bothered by them when living on the streets. Five has yet to eat any kind of creepy crawly on Klaus’ watch, something Klaus isn’t quite sure if he should be proud of, but he’s determined to keep it that way. 

In a twisted and slightly morbid turn of events, Klaus is lucky his brother is dead, because it gives him a second pair of eyes to watch out for impromptu insect-shaped snacks when his back is turned.

He needs those eyes now.

“What are you going to do, tie him down?” Ben asks, sat crossed legged on the blanket Klaus has spread out across the floor, Five laid out beside him none the wiser to his companion.

They suffered the unfortunate luck of the baby carrier finally breaking a few months ago, cracking down the middle and making it in no way salvageable. It’s a pain in the ass, to be honest. They haven’t found one big enough for Five since, and Klaus is starting to wonder if he should invest in a buggy, instead.

“I…Don’t know.” Klaus admits, his hands on his hips as he watches Five discover his own toes. He has just been bathed, using hot water and a bucket, because he didn’t trust the sink yet, so they are clean as he rolls around on his back to shove them into his mouth.

The joys of being tiny.

Across the room, sat in the plastic carrier bags Klaus had the pleasure of hauling back to the room from the shop, is half a ton of cleaning supplies. It’s the cheap stuff, because that’s all they can afford, but it’s better than nothing. Klaus suspects that it’s more than horrifically likely that these four walls have never seen a clean day in their life, and if Five’s going to be toddling about then he needs to work some serious elbow grease.

The problem is Five.

In any other given situation, Klaus would just stick him in the sling. He does when they go shopping, or when he cooks (those days when he has the facilities to), and up until a few days ago it was also where he slept, but he can’t here. Klaus is going to be dealing with chemicals and fumes and boiling water, and while he might not be an expert on childcare, he has a mighty strong suspicion that those should not come into contact with a one-year-old’s skin.

“You’re just…Going to have to watch him for me.” He sighs, shrugging at Ben. “There’s nothing I can really-” Snapping his mouth shut, Klaus dives across the blanket to pound his foot down on another insect before it can go scuttling towards Five.

His son giggles, and Klaus scrunches his face up at the crunch.

“Lovely.” Ben comments, staring at Klaus’ shoe with a strange expression of apprehension. “I can watch him, but it’s not going to be very productive.”

“I can’t keep washing him in the bucket.”

“No, I know, I know.” Sighing, Ben relaxes onto his side so he’s at eye level with Five, though Five is blissfully unaware of the proximity of his uncle. “You go clean. I’ll holler if need be.”

“Thanks.”

Taking off his sweater, Klaus changes into the grimmest, most stained clothes he has. This is going to be horrifically unpleasant, like the time Dad sent them on a mission involving sewers, and it makes no sense for him to get any of his nicer clothes ruined.

As Klaus pulls on the rubber gloves, Ben comments, “Uh-oh, we’re trying to walk again.”

Turning, he finds Five with his bottom in the air, his hands and feet on the floor. They both watch as he attempts to right himself, only to land back down with a small bump. 

“Whoopsie!” Klaus singsongs across the room, because if he doesn’t make it funny, then there will be waterworks. “Good try, Hawaii Five-O!”

Blinking several times at his new position, Five finds him and giggles, then goes back to cannibalising his own foot again. As Klaus pulls out a new sponge from the packet and the cleaner, he hears Ben chuckle softly.

“I can’t believe you produced something this cute.”

Klaus scoffs, squirting the cleaner against the worst corner of the wall and kneeling down. “You say that as if you’ve never met me before. I’m cute.”

“You’re a nuisance.”

“I’m the heart and soul of this family and you know it.” The wall smears with black and green under the sponge. “You don’t have a leg to stand on.”

“I put in a vote for Five.” Ben says, and then adds, in a lighter, teasing voice, “Five, can you say _nuisance?”_

Five, not having a clue Ben is there, mumbles into his toes. A quick glance over Klaus’ shoulder finds him still on his side, though he has wiggled a bit. Ben’s adjusted himself is laid out on his stomach in front of him, his chin resting on his crossed arms. He pokes his tongue out when he spots Klaus looking.

“Stop trying to influence my son.” Huffing, Klaus returns to his lovely task, which so far as consisted of a lot of scrubbing and very little gunk coming away. “I’m betting now that he learns swear words from you.”

“Me?”

“You have a mouth to match Diego’s when you want to.”

“ _Diego?_ Shut up! I _don't!”_

Klaus wets the sponge in the bucket, and the water squeezes out pitch black. “Remind me exactly what you called the mother in the supermarket the other day?”

There's a pause, filled only with the scraping of the sponge and Five’s babbling. Klaus pushes his hair out of his face, sweat already starting to form from the intensity of his work.

“Look,” Ben finally says, “She deserved it.”

“Uh-huh, point proven.”

“No!”

“Yes!”

“Ugh, I hate you.” Ben whines, and Klaus snickers, cleaning off the sponge again. Half of the rougher green side of it has worn away already, leaving the softer, useless part of the sponge beneath exposed. 

As the hour ticks by, shown only in the digital watch Klaus brought not too long ago and is currently sat on the one and only table they have so it doesn’t get damaged, Klaus is lucky in that he only has to pause to stop Five from rolling off the blanket once, hefting the kid back into the middle.

Five coos up at him, smiley and happy and just begging to have a playmate, but if Klaus is going to have any peace of mind then he needs to keep cleaning, so he simply gives Five a peck on the forehead and gets back to work.

He probably shouldn’t be disturbing mold with Five in the room, he realises as an afterthought, but considering there’s literally no other rooms to their box, with even the toilet sat in the corner, he doesn’t have a say in the matter. Leaving Five in the corridor is _not_ an option.

“This is so gross.” He mutters, barely halfway through and struggling. There is a tough spot, one spawning from the damper side of the sink, and even when Klaus forces his full weight into each scrub of the sponge it refuses to budge.

“Do you have anything stronger?” Ben asks, now on his knees with Five. “Perhaps that could help.”

Klaus replies through grit teeth, sweat dribbling down his face. “Not really. Not without taking off the paintwork.”

Ben simply hums at that.

The sink is no better. Years of neglect has left the grime deep, practically rooting into the porcelain like disgusting growths. Dumping the sponge in the bin, Klaus selects a new one from the packet. His gloves, once bright, fresh yellow, now look as if he has been wading through oil. Changing out the water in the bucket, Klaus starts again.

He continues on, jamming the palm of his hand fully into the sponge and attacking the sink with everything he has. Five will outgrow the bucket soon enough, and the shower is positioned in a way that locks the showerhead into place, making it completely unpractical for a baby. If he is going to wash Five, it’s going to be in the sink.

Klaus needs to get it clean for Five. 

The sharp movements make his shoulder ache, and a strange, draining feeling sinks into his stomach.

“W-Woah, hey-”

Five makes a high pitch squealing noise, and instantly Klaus drops the sponge and spins around, hands already moving to whip off the gloves.

Five, sat on his bottom, is looking straight at Ben, a big grin on his face. Ben, meanwhile, is looking at his hands, glancing between them and Five.

“I…I think…” Ben swallows, and then glances over to meet Klaus’ gaze. “I think I just…Touched him?”

Klaus blanks. “What?”

“I just,” Biting at his lip, Ben gazes down at Five again. “I had my hand over his head, and then there was this _feeling_ , and then I was touching his hair? I think? He’s…He’s looking at me.”

Five _is_.

Five is looking straight at Ben.

“Christ on a cracker.” Klaus breathes. “You can do that?”

Shaking his head slowly, Ben pulls his hands back against himself, almost protectively. “I don’t think that was me…”

Straightening, Klaus pulls off the gloves, leaving them in the sink. “You’re saying that was _me?_ Or, _is_ me? He’s still looking at you.”

Mumbling to himself, Five shifts about on the blanket.

“It must be. I’m literally doing nothing.” Ben fixes him with an expression Klaus cannot quite identify. “You _are_ the one with the séance powers.”

It’s Klaus’ turn to stare at his hands. They are wrinkled from where water has got into the gloves, with dirt under his nails and skin cracked from the cold weather, but they aren’t anything other than normal to his eye.

There’s still an odd sensation in his stomach, though, one he had been thinking was hunger or plain exhaustion. He swallows, frowning.

“But I’ve never done anything like _this_ before. What even is this? Summoning the dead?”

Ben sounds just as unsure. “I don’t think so? I mean, there’s nowhere to summon me _from_. I was here already. I think this is more…Just…Manifesting me?” He tries, sounding sceptical at his own words. “I wonder if-”

A loud half-babbly voice cuts Ben off, and Klaus snaps his head up just in time to see Five go stumbling across the mat straight into Ben’s lap. Caught completely off guard, both eighteen-year-olds blink at Five, who seems very happy to remain where he is, lent against his Uncle’s thighs.

“Did…Did you just _walk?”_ Ben gapes, and when Five reacts to his words by chattering baby talk back, a large, unfiltered smile crosses his face. Hesitantly, as if Five was made of glass, Ben rests his hands against Five’s back. “Great job, buddy!”

Klaus continues doing his goldfish impression, very well, he might add. “He just…Up and walked! And he’s lent against you! He’s touching you!” He stammers, and then realisation hits him with the implications and Klaus groans, rubbing a hand over his face. “Oh God, he’s going to be a nightmare now, isn’t he?”

“Lies.” Ben whispers to Five, his eyes shining brightly. “Lies and slander!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Five used hug!
> 
> It was super effective!
> 
> [Tumblr](https://ancientstone.tumblr.com/)


	24. 25th March 2019

****

**25th March 2019**

Klaus’ knees bounce, a jarring motion considering that he’s currently leant forward with his elbows resting on his thighs and teeth nibbling at the nail of his thumb. Opposite him, Mom quietly shuts the first aid box, moving around the bed to squeeze Klaus’ shoulder, her smile reassuring and bright red with lipstick. He barely glances at her.

The dusty windows to his bedroom shine in the moonlight of the early evening, cut off sharply by the old bulb overhead. After a moment contemplating the dark corners of the room, Klaus leans over and flicks his bedside lamp on and then resumes his previous position.

As Mom takes her leave, Ben comments from across the room, “You could’ve at least said thank you.”

“She was there when Five was taken.” Klaus comments absently, his eyes unblinking as he continues to stare at his son, quiet and limp on the bed. “She didn’t do anything to help then. I think I’ll reserve some judgement.”

Humming, Ben doesn’t dispute this, his hands stuffed tightly in his jacket pockets as he leans against the wall of Klaus’ bedroom. Scribbles of teenagerhood spill out behind him, the sharp ink of felt pens and childhood doodles spread like wings of yesteryear behind Ben’s back.

It took them a scary amount of time to get Five back to the Academy, especially considering the fact that Klaus isn’t the strongest person around and Five was an unhelpful deadweight. Trying to coordinate the mess of boneless limbs into something Klaus could carry had been a task in of itself and attempting to heft him all the way home in a way that didn’t jar his injury took a fair amount of juggling and shouting on Ben’s part, something that wasn’t entirely appreciated.

The last time Klaus carried Five, he must have been about eight, maybe a bit younger.

Then, Five had been struck down with flu. Now he was swept unconscious by gunshot wounds.

By the time they eventually arrived in a stumbled mess of limbs and blood a good hour or so had passed, and a sickly pale complexion had settled deep into Five’s skin in a way that twisted something awful in Klaus’ gut. He had watched, silent and nauseated, as Mom blinked several times at Five in a slightly dazed manner before smiling reassuringly and taking out the relevant sewing supplies. Five didn’t even flinch at the tugging thread.

He didn’t wake when the job was complete, either, or as the day progressed into afternoon and then twilight. It wasn’t until half an hour ago that Five made any movement, and this only came in the form of his face twitching and brows furrowing with clear signs of pain, the initial round of sedatives and painkillers finishing their course through his body.

Reluctantly, Klaus went and sought out Mom. Now back under the influence of drugs, Five sleeps deeply, an IV in one arm and a small bandage around the other from the blood transfusion. 

Licking at his lips in thought, Ben silently walks over and perches on the edge of the bed, watching Five with concerned eyes. Klaus lets him, making no comment and doing nothing more than follow him with his gaze. 

A tiredness has set itself into Klaus bones, and in the back of his head there is a fizzing, grating sensation that signifies the start of withdrawal.

He has missed out on quite a few drugs today, after all.

His mouth thinned, Ben blinks down at Five, the same expression on his face as the one he always wore when either Five or Klaus was sick. Medicine is expensive, especially with the paycheck Klaus earned, and they were always forced to leave things for as long as they could.

Ben has a knack for reading people, probably an aftereffect of being dead and stuck unable to communicate, and he has that look on his face that tells Klaus he is reading deeply into everything they have seen the last two days.

There’s a lot to unpick.

Between them, Five lays almost motionless, save for the constant breathes of unconsciousness. His skin remains a scary, unhealthy shade, and according to the soft comments Mom made as she worked, he has a slight temperature they shall need to monitor. Klaus’ blankets, old and a little musty, have been brought up to his hips, leaving the newly bandaged waist untouched so they don’t disturb the injuries.

Two gunshot wounds, one still containing the bullet that made it.

Klaus’ little boy has been _shot_.

Then again, he’s not so little anymore, is he?

“How old did he say he was again?” He asks gently, even though Klaus already knows the answer. Ben humours him.

“Fifty-eight.” Shaking his head, Ben glances away. “You believe him, then?”

Klaus’ answer is wet, shaky, and he buries his head in his hands as he says it. “Yeah. I do.”

There is no way his child, his sweet, giggly boy who used to conspire with Ben and pick the broccoli out his dinner, could _ever_ do the things he did at Griddy’s. Five had been many things, protective, arrogant, a touch big-headed, but a murderer, someone who decided the best way to get rid of a threat was to stab it in the eye?

Something has happened to Five, something terrible and traumatic. 

Klaus has no idea what to do.

Fifty-eight. An entire lifetime without his Dad and Uncle Ben. A whole four and a bit decades doing who knows what, who knows where. If he was in the correct body right now Five would be an adult, older than Klaus and Ben, and he would be greying and wrinkled, and his voice would be deeper. He would be an entirely different person, one that Klaus doesn’t know he could immediately recognise when passing on the street.

The pack of drugs feel heavy in his back pocket.

“What do I do?” He whispers without really meaning to, turning eyes heavy with tears towards Ben, who looks just as lost. “He’s not _Five_ anymore. I can’t _parent_ him. I don’t know how. He’s just a person, in the shape of my son. He’s not…I’m…”

He feels awful saying it, marring his mouth with a blasphemy that the Klaus of this time last year would be horrified to hear. The words twist bile in his gut in what must be a kneejerk reaction for any parent talking like this about their child.

There’s truth, however, in Klaus’ words.

You parent your children, and Five is…He’s different.

He’s changed.

He isn’t…

Klaus is forced to swallow thickly.

There’s an awful question in the back of his mind, present and prodding and one that Klaus won’t even contemplate. He cannot allow it to come to the surface, because if it does then he’ll have no choice but to answer, and Klaus doesn’t know what that response will be.

Ben pushes off the bed, crouching beside him. “He _is_ Five, Klaus. I promise you he is.”

Klaus laughs thickly. “He just _murdered_ people! I can’t…I can’t deal with that! Have you seen me? I’m not his parent anymore, Ben, I’m just some guy he’s stuck with. He won’t talk to me; he barely even lets me _touch_ him.” Klaus shakes his head. “I was in his way there and I’m in his way now.”

“Five loves you, Klaus.” Ben insists, clicking his fingers to get Klaus’ focus on him. “ _Listen_ to me. You didn’t see it, but when you hugged him when he first came back Five was near tears. He was happy, _relieved_ to be back with you. All this?” He gestures towards Five, who continues to float in a drug induced sleep. “It’s a front. He’s scared, Klaus, I know you can see that just as much as I can.”

Pausing, Ben looks at him expectantly, waiting for Klaus to answer.

When he fails to, disappointment flashes across his face.

“Do you still love him?” He asks bluntly, and Klaus startles.

There it is. The question.

He loved his little boy, the one from last year, when he was happy, carefree, griping about his homework and his teachers. He loved that little boy, because he was _Klaus’_ , something untouched by the filth of the Academy and its looming walls. They’d battled through everything together, the homelessness and the hunger, the fights with kindergarten moms and parent-teacher conferences and came out the other side closer and stronger than ever.

This person spread out on his childhood bed, unconscious because he took a gun to the stomach to protect Klaus, isn’t his little boy.

Ben makes a noise, pained and gentle. “He’s different, he’s changed by his life experiences, but do you still love him?”

He has to answer. He knows he has to. To leave this to the silence would be as clear as a death bell tolling in the middle of the night. Klaus sucks in a breath and wills his hands to remain steady as he forces a word into his mouth.

“Yes.” The reply is numbing on his lips, but, as it hangs in the air like the bold statement it truly is, there is something to it, something that grabs hold of his chest and lurches it forward. The word’s not sour, nor grotesque, and there’s no bitter twang of lie to be uncovered within it.

This is because it’s true. It’s strange, and odd in a way he doesn’t understand it, but it’s true.

Even as his worries continue to circulate through his mind, mixing with the withdrawal to make them twitchy and nervous, it’s as if Klaus can suddenly breathe again, as if his brain has snapped like an elastic band spread too far and bounced right back into it’s proper shape. Suddenly, the stranger on the bed is his again, just as precious as he’s always been to his parent’s eye, and the swirling nausea gets unceremoniously lobbed to one side in favour of love.

Klaus _still_ loves his son.

Klaus still loves his _child_.

Christ, he’d do anything for the boy on his bed, the angry, hurting, traumatised little human that came to him as Klaus sunk into a world of booze and drugs, and singlehandedly pulled him back out again. Twice, in fact. He didn’t touch drugs all of Five’s life and has barely thought of them since Five arrived at the Academy.

Five returned to him and is now desperate for his Dad’s help, and Klaus is sitting here, moping over the fact that his son has changed.

Of course he’s changed, so has Klaus. Jesus, he really doesn’t have any room to talk, does he? Poor Five is probably still dealing with the whiplash of discovering what his Dad’s like when he’s high. He never knew Klaus in such states, because he was an infant locked away in a room under the dictatorship of Reginald when Klaus went through withdrawal for the first time, and the topic was never discussed. There had been no need, the past was behind them and they were moving forward, together, as their small, close-knit family unit.

Klaus is being a goddamn moron.

His child has _come back_ , is right here, is vulnerable and tired and in need of guidance from someone who cares about him, who won’t leave him to deal with his demons alone the same way Klaus had Ben at his side for all these years.

He doesn’t know what happened to Five, and he doesn’t know if he will ever find out, but like shit is he going to leave Five alone, leave him to be knocked down without anyone there to offer a hand back up.

Klaus isn't leaving his son tied up in a chair and screaming, not again.

“He’s going to be exhausted when he wakes up.” Pushing himself upright, Klaus sniffs loudly. “I should make him something to eat.”

Ben smiles, his shoulders relaxing. “I’ll watch him.”

“Thanks.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone spot a certain little throwback to an earlier chapter?
> 
> (Hint: It's chapter 16!)
> 
> [Tumblr](https://ancientstone.tumblr.com/)


	25. 25th March 2019

****

**25th March 2019**

The house is quiet as Klaus walks through the high corridors, passing Mom who has taken to her cross stitch as her charging station and down into the kitchen. There he finds Diego, halfway through an apple.

“You missed the meeting.” Diego states, his mouth still full and not looking up. “We did try and tell you.”

Huffing and clicking his tongue, Klaus waltzes by him and starts pulling out the ingredients for a peanut butter and marshmallow sandwich, ignoring the eyes that latch onto his back as he moves around. In an odd way, it reminds him of Five when he was a toddler, and he’d sit on his playmat and watch Klaus pitter about their home doing odd chores and cooking. 

It had been as cute as it had been sad, because when Klaus was busy Five didn’t have anyone to play with and at that time Klaus couldn’t manifest Ben very well, despite both their desires for Five to spend some one-on-one time with his uncle. It used to break his heart when Five had to lay there for sometimes a few hours at a time while Klaus got things done, because he must have been so bored by himself.

Maybe that’s why Five grew to be so independent.

“You mean, the thing you yelled up the stairs at me as my son was being stitched up?” The jab of his words hits lightly, but is still a jab, nonetheless. Frankly, Klaus had a ton of other priorities at the time rather than what they call a _family meeting_ but in reality is more a _collective argument about petty shit._

Pausing mid crunch, Diego shifts guiltily, leaning back against the table. Stiffly, he asks, “He ok?”

“He’ll be sore, but he’ll live. He’s going to be hungry when he wakes up, so…” Klaus gestures lamely towards the bread, and then clears his throat. “What was the meeting about?”

“Mom.” Diego sighs, something heavy within his voice. “Luther and Allison found the security tapes from the night that Dad died and think that proves she had something to do with his death.”

Blinking, Klaus turns to glance over his shoulder. “Does it?”

“Like shit it does.” Tossing the apple core towards the bin, Diego cleans his fingers on his trousers and habitually takes out a knife, flicking it up and catching it perfectly. He repeats the action again, and then again. “They want to turn her off, put it to a vote and everything.”

Biting at his lip, Klaus carefully scoops out the peanut butter from the jar, spreading it evenly across the slice. He can hear the knife tinging through the air behind him, that weird knife-belt-contraption Diego keeps around his chest squeaking at his movements.

“They both voted to turn her off.” Diego says, the bitterness in his tone evident as Klaus plucks marshmallows. “Vanya’s with me for keeping her on.” There is no mistaking the resentment towards her there, and Klaus would be lying if he said he didn’t get it, but there’s also a lick of appreciation as well. After a brief, contemplative pause, Diego inevitably adds, “That makes it two against two. All we’re waiting for is your vote.”

“I get a vote?” He says, playing dumb.

“Keep her on, or turn her off?” Diego ignores the attempted dodge.

Klaus sighs, leaning against the counter and staring down at the sandwich sat lamely on the plate. It'll probably go to waste, considering the bullet wounds took a lot out of Five and he likely won’t wake until tomorrow, perhaps a little longer. Then again, it wouldn’t be the first time he’s finished off Five’s scraps after a meal, and if Klaus was able to put up with the leftover baby goop and nibbled, cold vegetables then he could manage a sugary mess of a sandwich.

“Bro?” Diego pushes.

“I…I won’t lie, Diego, Mom’s not doing great.” He doesn’t need to turn around to know Diego is standing rigid at that, probably shooting him all kinds of glares. “The night Five… _Went_ , she was here. In the house.”

“She’s always in the house.”

“I know, but she’s supposed to be _Mom_ , right? To help us?” Giving in and moving to face Diego, Klaus tries not to wither under the intensity of his brother’s eyes. “I’m pretty sure I heard Dad say once that’s she’s meant to protect us, or step in if someone’s hurt. But she didn’t, that night, for me or Five.”

Shaking his head, Diego makes a frustrated, pained sound. “So, what, you’re siding with Allison and Luther? Chuck her in the closet somewhere and forget about her?”

“No, no, that’s not what I’m saying.” Rubbing the heel of his hand against his forehead, Klaus sighs tiredly. “Can we discuss this later? I’ve got Five to think about at the moment, and all the shit going on with him…” He trails of awkwardly, suddenly wanting to do anything _but_ give Diego the details of the last day. “It’s not like we need to do anything right this second.”

Diego was nearly a cop, after all. Christ knows how he’ll react to Five stabbing people in the eye.

Clicking his tongue, Diego pushes off the table, his hands fisted as he marches across the kitchen with a disgruntled, “Whatever.”

Klaus simply watches him go, aware that he’s successfully managed to piss his brother off. Raising his eyes skyward, he sucks in a deep breath and holds it for a moment, letting the air fill his lungs and clear his mind. 

Mom isn’t well, robot or no, and keeping the truth from Diego won’t help anyone in the long run.

At any other point in time, Klaus might go after him, and try and coax him into understanding that perhaps she needs to be turned off. At the moment, however, his priority is Five, and he only has the brain power to concentrate on one drama at a time.

Picking up the plate, Klaus silently heads back towards his bedroom. 

He’s nearly halfway up the stairs when a gun goes off.

The noise shatters through the otherwise quiet house, loud and bouncing violently off the walls like an earthquake tremor, Diego yelling angrily somewhere within the Academy. Sounds of someone scrambling about, of heavy feet on old floorboards and things toppling over echo through the familiar corridors, several more shots smacking the air and making Klaus’ skin tingle with a deep sense of oncoming dread.

Ben is by Klaus’ side almost instantly, glancing around in a panic as he tries to orient himself and locate Klaus. When they lock eyes, a small flash of relief flitters across Ben’s face, quickly disappearing under worry.

“There’s two shooters by the bedrooms.” Ben blurts, pointing needlessly up the stairs. “In masks. They told Diego that they’re looking for _the boy_.”

A heavy sensation drops in Klaus chest like a lead ball, hitting his sternum and lungs as it does and crushing them under the weight. For a second, all he can do is stare in terrified shock, Ben’s face mirroring the horror slowing taking over.

Dropping the sandwich without a second’s thought, Klaus bolts up the rest of the stairs, his shoes skidding as he makes the sharp turn towards their bedrooms. Ben is hot on his heels.

Further in the house something heavy crashes, as if one of the suits of armour has fallen over and gone scattering. It might’ve done, for all he knows, because if the goons from before were perfectly happy destroying a simple doughnut shop then there’s no telling what they might be ready to do here. Luther is yelling, his voice booming with unintelligible words, and as Klaus sprints he thinks he hears the sounds of high heels beating through the hallways like an erratic heartbeat.

None of which matters.

The boy. They are after _the boy_. There’s no doubt in his mind that these trigger-happy nutjobs are linked with the men from last night, only this time there won’t be any fancy moves, no sly quips or teasing smirks, because the person capable of doing that is currently out cold from protecting his father and so sickly pale that Klaus fears all the blood might’ve been drained from him.

Klaus’ rusty, half-remembered kicks and wild flailing will do nothing to keep anyone at bay, especially if he’s having to deal with guns in his face.

Their only other choice is to take Five and run.

“Klaus!” Ben shouts behind him as he scrambles around another corner. “There’s only one downstairs, the other’s-”  
Klaus knows exactly where the other one is.

Because he just fucking ran into him.

They both go tumbling to the floor in a mess of limbs and a lot of undignified squalling on Klaus’ part. The man, masked in a bizarre blue bear head, recovers first, and before Klaus even has the chance to gasp, he’s being hit painfully in the ribs.

Yelping, Klaus sends his foot flying out, barely managing to whack the guy in the thigh as he tries to scramble away.

“Where is he?” Blue Bear demands, easily snatching up Klaus’ foot and dragging him back, using his knee to effectively pin Klaus to the floor. His shoulders rise and fall heavily as he looms over Klaus, and there is blood dribbling down from what must be a knife wound on his arm. He seems to be missing his gun.

“W-Who?” Klaus plays stupid, making his eyes go brainless and wide, his face contorting into expression of idiocy.

He has a lot of practice at playing these types of games. After Five went, it’s what helped him get a bed for the night.

“The boy. Number Five.” Blue Bear growls. “We know he’s here.”

They know about Five, and the likelihood of him being here, but not their relation.

Fuck, if they realise Klaus is Five’s father there’s no saying what they could do.

“I don’t know anything!” Klaus stammers, ignoring Ben’s desperate looks over the man’s shoulder. He holds up his hands in a movement of submission, of pleading and begging and, hopefully, truth. “Honestly! No one tells me shit! They don’t-”

Blue Bear’s hand springs out like a striking viper, snatching Klaus’ wrist in a vice grip and yanking it forward, dragging the sleeve of his coat down. The Umbrella Academy tattoo shines stark against the non-existent colour of the inside of his arm, and Blue Bear examines it in the corridor light as if it were a jewel on an otherwise crusty and broken crown.

Five lays unconscious in bed, barely a minute’s walk away.

Klaus stays very still.

“You’re the man who was with him at Griddy’s.” Blue Bear says, more to himself. Being unable to see his face is unnerving, giving him a creepy, horror-film edge that makes Klaus swallow thickly.

“Griddy’s?” He downplays. “I wasn’t-”

“You’re the only one in this house that matches the description of the accomplice.” Blue Bear talks straight over him, and Klaus hates the tone of his voice. It sounds like he’s come to a decision. “Number Five is close to you, somehow.”

“No-”

“You’re coming with me.”

This is the last thing Klaus hears before he’s promptly knocked out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know in canon Hazel and Cha-Cha don’t arrive until a bit later, but considering the fact that no truck driver turned up, meaning Five never got the address for Grimble Brother’s, they were able to get the tattoo info from Agnes (which she saw on Klaus) a lot sooner.
> 
> Like I said before, canon events get a little lopsided when you change a few things, so I ask you please just roll with all these alterations. I don’t really fancy having to constantly explain each change at the end of each chapter, so from now on I’m not really going to address it.
> 
> [Tumblr](https://ancientstone.tumblr.com/)


	26. 25th March 2019

****

**25th March 2019**

Because the universe adores Klaus with the same kind of passion as a child decimating a muddy puddle, he’s currently experiencing three types of pain.

The first is withdrawal. It’s nearing midnight now, and Klaus hasn’t had a single drug for longer than he initially realised. Beneath his skin cockroaches wiggle, scuttling along his bones in a way that makes his body shudder with a cold sweat. He feels weak, dizzy, drained, and while the drugs may be leaving his system, there’s no way he’s strong enough to even fathom manifesting Ben.

The second pain comes from the fact that he’s currently away from Five. Ben keeps blinking in and out every ten minutes or so, vanishing in that creepy way he does and bouncing between Klaus and Five to keep him updated. Each time he comes back, there are more lines across his brow, and deeper, darker emotions flickering behind his eyes like a dimming candle. With Klaus gone, everyone apparently having yet to notice after all the action, and Mom now apparently out of commission, no one is watching over his son, and Five’s _hurt_. 

It makes Klaus feel sick.

Five, his little boy who’s not so little anymore, who’s wounded and traumatised and just needs his Dad, is unconscious and helpless. If more freaks turn up there’ll be no one to protect him, to keep the goons away from his room, and if he happens to wake before Klaus can escape, he’ll have no idea where his Dad is.

The third pain is the torture.

Blood spills down Klaus’ face and neck, tricking over already damp skin to mar the chair and the brown-coloured carpet with deep crimson. His shirt is ruined, there’s no conceivable way he’ll ever get the stains out, and somewhere along the line he’s lost one of his shoes. Exactly how, he has no idea.

His head dipped downwards Klaus examines the floor.

There is the oddest feeling in the back of his head that he might have stayed in this motel with Five once, back when he was tiny, and Klaus was still able to shield him from the horrors of the world.

Fuck, he failed at that, didn’t he?

A hand flies out of the fuzzy edges of his vision, smacking Klaus across the face.

“Where’s Number Five?” Pink Dog demands, her voice tight and angry after several hours of fruitless torture. “Tell us where he is!”

“We can’t let them go back to the house.” Ben comments somewhat unhelpfully, sat with his back against the end of the bed and thinking aloud to give Klaus something to mentally cling to. Klaus does, with clammy, sweaty hands. “Five’s still out. Diego and Allison are arguing about something, Luther’s vanished to him room, and I think Vanya’s just straight up left.”

Klaus doesn’t have the opportunity to respond, because seconds later a wet flannel is splattered across his face, water pouring onto the material as his head is forced painfully back. Tight fists yank at his hair, pulling out strands from the force, and without thinking Klaus’ feet struggle, the tape digging deep into his skin.

The drink is nice. He tells them as much.

It earns him a kick in the shin.

Ben gets up and starts to pace, walking back and forth with a face that’s lost in thought. He keeps phasing through Pink Dog, not that either of them notice. Pink Dog is busy bitching with Blue Bear, going on about manuals and gesturing towards Klaus’ coat, and Ben is too preoccupied to pay that much attention to where he’s going.

Wandering around the corner of a room a ghost Klaus cannot fully see from his current angle mutters below their breath. The voice is angry, bitter, wronged in some way Klaus doesn’t understand. It’s irritating in an infuriating kind of way, especially because they’re obviously not speaking English, yet his tired brain keeps tricking him into thinking it is.

“How long until you think you can manifest me?” Ben asks, fixing Klaus with a look. “Don’t answer verbally, just nod when I get to the answer you want. Half an hour? An hour? Two hours?” He pauses when Klaus makes a ‘so-so’ gesture with his head, smiling sweetly at his captors when they momentarily glance at him.

In truth, Klaus has absolutely no idea how long it will take for him to manifest Ben. He’s out of practice, and the first time he came off drugs there was a year gap between getting clean and discovering he could make Ben visible and solid.

He’s hardly in the position to bring this up now, though, and is definitely not in the mood to wait for Ben to suggest a year until he nods.

Withdrawal’s a bitch.

Pursing his lips, Ben rests his elbow on his palm, and rubs at his nose, a funny little habit he picked up when they were kids.

“If we can get them to leave, to waste their time at some random location, maybe we can be left alone long enough for you to manifest me.” Ben ponders, watching Pink Dog and Blue Bear with a sharp, judging gaze. “We don’t need me to be corporal long. Literally a minute will be enough for me to untie you. I can’t remember you taking any drugs after Five reappeared, so you’re far deeper into withdrawal than you would be otherwise.”

The thoughts end as Pink Dog and Blue Bear approach him, holding his coat between them.

“Let’s have a look at what we’ve got here.” Pink Dog says, digging through his pockets and making a show of it. “Ah-hah! Chocolate! Want a piece?”

“Of course!” Blue Bear takes the offered bar from her, taking a large bite under the mask. Pink Dog starts circling him, and Klaus can hear her eating as well.

Poor souls, they have no idea.

“Oh, what’s this?” There’s some rustling, and Pink Dog holds up the packet of drugs as if presenting a trophy in a game.

“Let me see that.” Blue Bear makes a ‘gimme’ gesture, not dissimilar to the one Five used to make when he was small and wanted to be picked up. Pink Dog tosses them over, half the drugs spilling onto the floor like scattering candies.

“Klaus, Klaus listen to me.” Moving into his line of sight, Ben snaps his fingers to get his attention, Klaus dragging his eyes away from his stolen goods. “Use this. Make them think you want the drugs and give them a false address for Five. Make something up. Pretend to give in.”

The thing is, Ben is wildly underestimating Klaus.

He does this a lot, in a way which is as heart breaking as it is pitiful. Klaus is Klaus, he’s the screw up, the druggie of the family, the man who tried to keep his baby away from danger and ultimately let him down.

Ben’s plan is good, it’ll give them time to at least attempt making Ben tangible enough to untie him.

However, as the drugs smash beneath Blue Bear’s foot, grinding into the filthy carpet under a polished leather shoe, there’s no pretending. Klaus yells, throwing a tantrum and jumping up and down like a displeased toddler strapped in a highchair and hating every second of it.

Klaus still wants his drugs.

There’s a dead woman in the corner ranting, and Klaus still wants his drugs.

“No! Don’t!” He pleads, a headache protesting the jerking movements and his bones rattling with each awkward leap. “Stop! Stop it!”

Despite the overwhelming agony of the last few months, the pain that was the belief that Klaus would never see his child again, there was one tiny speck of a silver lining. It’s greatly overshadowed by the numbed grief that coursed through his veins like cheap vodka, but it was there, his one tiny shred of good.

No ghosts.

No screaming.

Barely even Ben.

After so long with a buzzing peace, it’s hard to completely let that go.

His shouts go unheard by the surrounding rooms, though a new phantom in the corner, a woman wearing something straight out of the 1920s, turns her head towards him.

“All this could be yours for the low, low price of telling us everything!” Pink Dog waves another packet above his face, like a trainer tempting a dolphin to jump for fish, and Klaus lets his shoulders sag, lets his body look as pathetic as he feels.

He has his son back, and he still wants to get high.

It’s pathetic. _He’s_ pathetic. What a brilliant example of a father he makes.

“Ok.” Swallowing wetly, Klaus can’t meet their masked faces. His chin shudders. “Ok. Look, I don’t know where Five is, I wasn’t lying about that.”

“But…” Blue Bear prompts impatiently, making a ‘go on’ motion with his hand.

“But there’s a shop. Just off Portland Road? He kept mentioning it, going on about it like a…Like a madman!”

“I don’t get it.” Pink Dog shrugs, still wandering around Klaus like a shark circling a boat, before stopping in front of him, arms crossed. “Why would Five care about some stupid shop?”

Klaus hates the way they say his son’s name. It’s like they’re addressing a colleague, someone they deserve to be on friendly terms with. It makes his skin crawl even worse than the withdrawal, and his chest cavity fills with a protective surge of parental care.

How dare they try to take his son, to take him away from his home and family.

 _Fuck_ them.

Klaus knows Five has taken lives. He has seen it for himself. Who these people are and what they want Klaus hasn’t got a stupid clue, but the thought of Five standing on the same level as them sends a shiver striking through his body, jarring the very marrow of his bones.

Christ, what a mess.

“Keep going.” Ben urges, somewhere beside Klaus where he doesn’t care to look.

“He…He said…” Klaus really hopes he isn’t messing things up for Five by mentioning this but littering some truth within the lies is always better than straight up fibbing. 

He used to do so with Five when he was trying to appease his concerns about money. Five had only been six, far too young to ask if they could afford lunch.

They are fine, Klaus would say, they just need to cut back on a few things for a little while and save up a bit. 

Klaus would never tell him what those few things were, even if he suspected Five realised his father wasn’t eating much.

Gulping, Klaus forces his voice weak. It’s not a very hard job. “He said something about the end of times.”

Pink Dog and Blue Bear share a look.

Within a few minutes of wild whirling activity, Klaus is being dragged towards the wardrobe, tape plastered tightly across his mouth to smother his whined protests. Ben hovers behind them, watching anxiously, but with a small light of hope on his face. 

The plan is working, they’re going to leave. Perhaps they can make it back to Five before anyone even realises Klaus is gone.

Being knocked out was unexpected.

 

When Klaus comes to Ben is practically pulling his hair out, his hands tight at his sides and bouncing on his toes.

Blinking sluggishly, Klaus frowns as the chair is lugged out the wardrobe and across the floor. His captors are tinged with the stink of smoke, burns lining the edges of their clothes, and the world beyond the curtains is dark with night. 

There are circles under their eyes, speaking of the drug trip neither were expecting, and they have a slight stumble in the way they walk, but there’s relief as well, a general sense of being proud with their work, whatever that turns out to be.

He can tell the fact that they’re proud with themselves, because they don’t have their masks on.

Trying to tell them as much is ultimately a decent decision, because the man, who must have been Blue Bear, whips the tape off in a painful red sting. Klaus winces, smacking his lips. He hasn’t had the chance to drink for a while, and the sensation of sandpaper fills his mouth like thick glue.

“What’re you talking about?” Who was once Blue Bear demands.

“You guys are scarier without the masks.”

Huffing in aggravation, the woman, Pink Dog, whacks his head to the side, making his ears ring.

More ghosts linger in the room now, each with a lovely array of horror-movie gore effects splattered across their bodies. If he had anything in his stomach, Klaus might throw up.

“Number Five wasn’t there.” Pink Dog informs him, taking out a gun from a holster tucked behind her back and checking the bullets. Klaus watches it wearily. “However, we left him message. He knows where you are. When Five comes, we’ll be ready.”

Ben glares at them, his expression seething and eyes hard. “Do you think you could manifest me now? I could…” He trails off as Klaus wearily shakes his head, sweat dribbling down his face.

Klaus simply doesn’t have the energy. He might have been knocked out, but that doesn’t mean he had a peaceful, recuperating rest.

Pink Dog and Blue Bear vanish behind the counter, poised and ready to strike for when Five, who’s currently unconscious in bed, reads the message he doesn’t know about in a random shop he has never been to.

Fuck, Klaus wishes he was high.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic feels like it's dissolved into 'How Many Ways Can We Make Klaus Suffer' and that was not my original intent, but then again that's pretty accurate to canon so don't blame me, tua came like this!!
> 
>  
> 
> [Tumblr](https://ancientstone.tumblr.com/)


	27. 26th March 2019

****

**26th March 2019**

There is an uncomfortable tugging sensation on Five’s side, and he is floating.

This is a strange mix of feelings.

Where he is, Five is not entirely sure. There is a softness beneath him he has not felt for a long time, neither in the apocalypse nor with The Commission. 

For the former, soft things simply did not survive. Whatever caused the end of the world, be it meteor impact, nuclear explosion, or some fantastical thing he cannot comprehend, it sent out a fiery inferno so intense that it hungrily gobbled up whatever organic matter it could find. 

This whisked away a whole world from under Five’s feet, one that had been full of useful supplies, clothes that fit, and pleasantries Five could have really used on those dark days.

In the apocalypse, Five slept on salvaged rags and dirt.

He got used to it.

With The Commission, it was hotels, motels, or whatever was the equivalent for the time period. Five did not own a bed, nor did he ever sleep in one that was worthy of the name. His back is well acquainted with lumpy mattresses, concrete pillows, and rooms smelling so horrifically strongly of mold that it is a miracle he has yet to develop any worrying lung conditions.

Nothing he had he owned for himself, at least, what The Commission knew of. The guns and weaponry, the briefcase, the clothes on his back, all this came from the _generous_ starting package given to Five by The Handler on his first official day. She had smiled at him with that slightly hungry tug of her lips as he took the box, the one that always reminded him of a lioness teasing her prey, shrugging her shoulders whenever asked how long it will be until she dives in for the kill, and Five had smiled tensely in return.

He was very careful not to show them Vanya’s book, filled with his scribbles and calculations. If they got wind of even the slightest inkling that Five had plans of anything other than fulfilling his contract then he would have been terminated without a second thought, reputation or no. They had their timeline to uphold, and there was no way they were ever going to let some spunky offspring of a once famous superhero group go ahead and ruin that.

He never let them see the book.

The book created by his aunt detailing the lives of his other aunt, uncles, and his Dad.

No amount of alcohol will ever erase the day Five found it from memory.

_Shit._

Arriving in the apocalypse was exhausting in a way he had never felt before, not helped by the fact that Five was shoved there unwillingly at the mercy of his own powers. What exactly happened in the basement and by who’s hand he still has no clue but considering that he never should have been dragged there to begin with, Five is more than happy to put the complete blame on Reginald Hargreeves.

Spatial jumping is something that has been second nature to Five since he was little, something he has done without thinking for practically as long as he can remember. Yet at that moment, when the blue was swirling around him, thrusting him forward with an energy that shook his very bones to dust, Five had never felt so terrified in his life.

It was the first instance in Five’s life that he wished he had been born normal.

Landing had been less _landing_ , more _collapsing face first into the dirt and being unable to move for a very long time._

He simply had nothing left, everything used up in Reginald’s sick torments and that last, huge jump. Five could not be certain, but he is pretty convinced an entire day or more went by before he was able to push himself up into his hands, to roll over and face the world which he would be forced to call his home.

The bodies had been the worst.

There are many unknowns with the apocalypse. How it started, if it was worldwide or localised, how many days had gone by after the 1st April, and, most important of all, did he have a chance in Hell at surviving long enough to get home. 

The fires were still burning, so he could not have arrived long after it happened, however it was clearly long enough for the charred corpses that were all that remained of the human race to start…

Well.

Yeah.

He threw up.

Five threw up again when he stumbled across the Academy, knees grazed from rubble and school uniform grey with dust and soot. 

Dolores liked to tell him he drank too much, that he was poisoning himself and his body would not thank him later. Unfortunately for her, Five did not care. Five did not care in the slightest, because when he was nearly thirteen, he found the dead body of his father.

Dad had been cold. Among the heat and the fire and the air that choked with ash, Dad had been cold. 

His limbs were stiff, tight with rigor mortis, and his eyes stared at everything and nothing at once, never meeting Five’s, as if permanently watching a ghost over his shoulder. Even when Five grabbed at his face, desperate and pleading, forcing the head to turn towards his as he shouted, yelled, demanded the universe give back his father, Dad’s gaze remained vacant, devoid of the life and love it once held.

There were three other people in proximity to his Dad.

The woman he knew, because one of the boys at school once twigged who Five’s father was and made a point of loudly declaring to the class that he was related to Allison Hargreeves. This was great in the same manner as breaking your leg, similar in that there is one single moment where everything completely and truly sucks, and then for months after you have to put up with the consequences.

Every single goddamn time his aunt released a new movie, the curiosity would start up again. Could he get an autograph? What is she like? Does she have a big house? Does she hand out the really expensive Halloween candy? Does Claire go to a private school? Have you ever seen her rumour someone? Have you been rumoured before? What kind of Christmas presents does she give? What about birthday presents?

Five would not know, he never received one.

The two other males, Five knew, must also be family in some way, though he was only able to find an Umbrella Academy tattoo on the arm of one, a man with a scar and a strange, knife-riddled outfit that told him this was Diego.

Dad did not discuss the rest of the family to Five, and on the small occasions he did, never in much detail. However, Five is pretty sure that if Luther was _supposed_ to have the top half of an ape (Gorilla? Orangutan? Chimp?), it would have been brought up in conversation. Either way, Luther no longer had the tattoo.

It was three days after he buried his own family with nothing but his bare hands that Five found the book.

The publication date on the inside revealed it came out not long after Five was forcefully ejected from his timeline, so he can only imagine what Dad and Uncle Ben made of it. Going by the stories and tales of childhood within the pages, Five doubted it would have been well received by the others either, especially if Diego was as hot-headed as described and Luther loyal to Reginald.

Five, in his personal opinion, hated the book with venom.

Dad never told him about his Mom, or how Five came to be, or how he got his name. He never told Five how he was treated as a child, how he was paraded around like some kind of superhero freakshow for the entertainment of others, and how Reginald would drag them off behind closed doors for something Vanya names ‘personal training’.

Having seen how Reginald ‘personally trains’, Five highly doubts it was anything to be envious of.

Deep down, he knows he should not be angry at Vanya. She is clearly a hurt soul, one that was pushed to a breaking point and finally snapped like a rubber band stretched too far. He can see it in the way she writes, the wistful longings to return to childhood and stand up for herself, for her siblings to do the same, to be seen and heard for the individual she is. She wanted to be a part of things, as terrible and messed up as those things were, and in a family conditioned to believe that those situations were _good_ , what else was she to long for?

However, there is also a nagging sensation within Five’s chest, one that tugs and pulls and _hurts_ , because everyone at school would have read this, his English teachers would have analysed the text and his social classes would have discussed the ethics. Strangers, complete and utter nobodies on the street would have been able to point them out and say that this was the man who had a one night stand, this is the child that was named not out of love, but practicality, a chance to fill in the gap to a sequence and fill a horrible hole.

These are the people who treated each other like shit, as steppingstones to reach the bar that none of them could brush their fingers against. These are the people who did nothing but roll Five’s Dad into a recovery position when he took to drugs and alcohol, and never made any attempts to find him once they all escaped from Reginald’s thumb.

It was a strange sensation, to resent the people he just buried.

Five had not been officially thirteen at the time.

When he _did_ turn thirteen (roughly, because he does not know what day he arrived on), he celebrated by attempting to jump for the first time since arriving.

He knew he was not going to be able to travel back. Five knew that from the moment he arrived. Nothing about that jump had been natural, planned, spawned from his own time spent working out the calculations. Instead, he had been pushed, kicked out like a badly-behaved dog to go sit in the rain, and without knowing exactly what got him there to begin with, Five had nothing to work from in order to return home.

He was simply not smart enough. He did not have the mathematical skills needed to figure out such complex equations. Five tried, the mountain of scavenged university-level textbooks had been testament to that, however on his (probably) thirteenth birthday, this is not what Five tried.

Instead, he attempted a simple spatial jump.

From one side of his tiny camp to the other, under the watchful gaze of Dolores.

Fuck Reginald Hargreeves for ever making him scared of his own power. _Fuck_ him.

Dolores shared the same opinion, not that he knew that then. She told him later, when he was older, and beard speckled. She never said him why she waited so long, perhaps because Dolores is not the type of woman to reset the same way Five can, but her statement, so sudden and out the blue, had made Five laugh so hard his ribs ached and his face tilted skyward.

She always knew how to cheer him up.

Five misses her, dearly.

As his fingers brush against the softness beneath him and consciousness flutters just beyond his grasp, Five wonders what she would think of him now. Barely twenty-four hours back in the arms of his Dad, the man he was forced to bury and missed so hard he could make himself ill, and Five has taken to killing again, spilling blood and gore in the name of self-preservation.

He feels like he might have disappointed her.

Five has done so much so quickly. Mouthing off at his aunts and uncles, snapping at Dad because he does not understand the situation (because Five has not told him, not properly), letting a gunfight get so much out of hand that he has to take two bullets to the stomach just to keep Dad from getting his head blown off.

Yeah, Five has definitely disappointed her.

He hopes he has not disappointed Dad too badly. 

There is no ifs or possibilities of Five having not, not like with Dolores. She is unpredictable sometimes, and more often than not is simply cross with him over disappointed. Dad, however, is different. Dad is not Dolores, he is warm hugs and soft words and a strange sense of humour that leaves Five chuckling. 

There is no ifs or possibilities, because Five _knows_ he has. He has been grouching and biting out bitter words ever since getting back. His arrival must have been the biggest relief of Dad’s life, and his behaviour is bound to leave Dad with a sour taste, to twist his head like a snapping neck and make him think differently of Five. 

Dad has already scolded him, back at Griddy’s when Five was impatient with the waitress, and now he has gone and killed people right in front of his eyes.

Even as he floats, Five’s insides shift uncomfortably, grossed out with his own body, his own hands.

His Dad loves him. God, he _must_ do, right? He was there when Five passed out, and he must have been the one to bring Five to wherever he is right now. That must mean _something_ , surely? It has to indicate there is still a connection between them, as strained and tenuous as it is.

Five has begged only a handful of times in his life. A part of him wants to do so now.

He wants his Dad to love him. 

Five has been working so hard for so long, just to try and make sure his father survives. If Dad was to turn around and disown him now, Five is not sure what he would do.

There are voices, low and muffled and beyond the cotton stuffing Five’s brain. A man and a woman, Five thinks, going by the inflections and sounds. They are discussing something serious, with lots of controlled tones and short words. 

Is Dad here now? Is he with him? Five cannot feel him and going by the voice of the man, this is definitely not him. Where would he be if not with Five? Is he with Uncle Ben, or another of Dad’s siblings? Would he be getting something to eat or drink?

Would he have left? 

Through the fluff and the pain and the buzzing whirl of medication in his system, Five decides that in this moment, he just wants to be with his Dad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought to myself, "Hey, I'm kinda picking on Klaus a lot here....I'm going to pick on Five instead!"
> 
>  
> 
> [Tumblr](https://ancientstone.tumblr.com/)


	28. 27th March 2019

****

**27th March 2019**

Klaus is going to throw up.

He’s sure of it, as he goes whirling around the corner to the block housing the Umbrella Academy. Nausea bubbles deep within his stomach, warning him to _slow the heck down_ and _goddamn breathe_ for a moment. His legs protest the same thing, unused to this kind of workout. 

Running across the city is no one’s idea of a good time.

In the chilly March air, his skin feels cool and numb, the lack of shirt and coat doing Klaus no favours. His jeans are blood stained with deep red splotches, earning him strange glances from passers-by, and his foot missing its shoe slaps bare on the sidewalk, small bits of dirt and gravel digging into his sole.

Late last night, Klaus made his escape.

In truth, he didn’t really do much. It involved a lot of flailing on Ben’s part, because he was the one who spotted the cop making her way along the corridor, and once she found him and cut away the bindings Klaus was off like a shot through the open door, not so much as glancing back over his shoulder.

He isn’t quite sure what happened to her afterwards, but he’d told her that there were two, and she’s a cop so she must know what she’s doing. Klaus would’ve only been in the way if he stuck around anyway, considering the state he’s in.

In the end, he managed to successfully stumble the grand total of one block before he doubled over and vomited. Somehow, he managed another before the light-headedness became too much and forced him to lay down behind a bin in an attempt summon enough energy to walk again.

Even with Ben yelling in his ear, Klaus passed out moments later.

Now it’s mid-morning, and with a stagger he collides with the gates in an uncoordinated mess, flinging them and the door open with enough force for it to slam against the wall and bounce back again.

Pogo is in the lobby, and the chimp startles badly at his entrance.

“O-Oh, Master-”

“Where is he?” Klaus pants, swallowing down the bile rising in his throat and wiping the sweat from his face.

“Excuse me?”

“Five!” He snaps impatiently, gasping for breath. “Where is he? Is he still here? Has he woken up yet?”

A terrible sense of déjà vu goes rolling through Klaus’ mind, replaying a scarily similar moment from not too long ago like some sick film at the theatre, and he forcefully shoves the thoughts away. This isn’t like before, there’s no Reginald to worry about, no horrifying basement rooms and twisted experiment-like contraptions to hold his son in place. There is just a bedroom, and an injured boy.

Pogo blinks at him behind his glasses. “I believe-”

“Klaus!” Ben shouts from the top of the stairs, and Klaus wastes no time in turning his complete focus to him. Ben makes a desperate ‘come here’ gesture. “He’s waking up, c’mon!”

Bounding up the stairs, his churning stomach protesting the jostling, bouncing movement, Klaus is vaguely aware of Pogo calling after him, his voice concerned in a way that makes Klaus want to lob something in his general direction.

If Pogo wasn’t as bad as Reginald, they wouldn’t be in this mess to begin with.

_Five._

Two days Klaus has been away from Five. Two entire, _fucking_ days, during which his son has only had the occasional visits from Luther, Allison, and Diego for company. None of them have stayed long, according to Ben, Allison vanishing off to apparently do something with Vanya and Luther up to who knows what. Diego, for what it’s worth, did stick around for a while late last night until the early hours of this morning, monitoring Five as he tended to his own vigilante wounds. 

Diego didn’t verbally say anything, so they don’t know for sure, but it’s possible that Diego twigged that Klaus was missing.

Christ, Klaus hopes so.

He halts suddenly as he crosses passed Mom, in the corner of his eye seeing Ben doubling back through the doorway to follow Klaus’ gaze, his shoulders panting with unnecessary breathes in the afterlife.

Perched on her charging station, surrounded by miles of paintings, Mom sits motionless, her arm a mess of wires and oil and her expression vacant. There is no love in it anymore, no caring words or stilted understanding, instead she's gone, turned off and shut down. In her hands she holds her cross stitch, the image of the moon left hauntingly unfinished as she simply rests there, gathering dust.

“What the hell?” Klaus whispers.

“It must have been Hazel and Cha-Cha.” Ben comments, his hands fisted. “ _Jesus_ , someone could’ve moved her, at least. Why have they left her here? It’s…Morbid.” After a moment’s hesitation, Ben adds, softer, “It’s cruel.”

Shaking his head, Klaus swallows and pushes onward, ignoring the strange feeling of hurt as he marches towards his childhood bedroom with a shivery determination. Ben shadows him, his previous energy clearly tempered by Mom’s fate.

Reaching for the handle, Klaus goes to open the door only to yelp loudly, flinching as it swings back to reveal the shorter figure of Five, who startles just as badly at the sudden presence beyond the door. They lock eyes, tired meeting desperate, and Klaus isn’t sure who possesses what.

“Dad?” Five blinks, looking him up and down, focusing longer on the blood than anywhere else. “What happened-”

“Are you ok?” Moving forward, Klaus takes Five’s shoulders under his hands, searching for signs of pain, injury, possibly infection. Mom had talked about the possibility of a fever, and when Klaus was taken his temperature had been raising. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t-”

“What’s…” Five reaches up, and Klaus winces as he pushes his fingers against the side of his head, drawing them back to reveal sticky crimson. Something flickers across Five’s face, something hard, and Klaus’ guts spin in response. “What happened to you?”

“Five-”

“Dad. Tell me.” Five has a sharpened edge to his voice, one that forces it deep, controlled, unwavering. The voice of an adult. “Who did this?”

Ben appears at his side, eyeing Five with concern. “Tell him, Klaus.” He says, a strangely understanding expression on his face. “You and I both know he won’t appreciate it if you don’t.”

Sighing tiredly, and letting his head hang a little, Klaus wills his body to cooperate, saying with a croak, “Hazel and Ch-Cha.”

“Bastards.” Five instantly spits, his lip curling. 

A sharp, intense gaze flicks up and down Klaus again, noting every injury, every mark and bruise and blemish. The anger is evident, just bubbling below the surface the same way it does with Diego, and Klaus is sure that with only a few select words it could come spilling out with fire and brimstone, explosive in a way that Five always had. It was rare that it emerged, however Klaus witnessed enough deep heated tantrums to know better than to think it wasn’t lying in wait for the wrong trigger.

After a second, however, this intensity fades, retreating inwards like a creature to a cave. In its place something more neutral arrives, forced, Five’s eyes dimming to an expression Klaus would almost describe as hollow.

Frowning, Klaus watches silently as Five hesitantly reaches a single hand up to gently grasp at Klaus’ lower arm, simply holding it even though it’s as clear as day he wants to do more.

This is the first time Five has initiated contact, outside life-threatening situations.

“I’m sorry.” Five says, his tone akin to one that could almost be mistaken as bland if heard by any other person. However, Klaus knows his son, adult or child be damned, and the hurt and regret is as loud as police sirens in his ears. “That shouldn’t have happened.”

“Five.” Melting, because _Christ_ , Five is always going to be his little boy, Klaus pulls him in for a hug, ignoring the way his cold, clammy skin sticks uncomfortably against the uniform Five’s wearing. 

Five doesn’t struggle under the arms, nor does he protest at the stink of sweat that Klaus must be emitting right now. Instead, he manoeuvres his one hand, resting it on Klaus’ shoulder, a feather’s touch in comparison to Klaus’ tight grasp.

It’s then that Klaus’ brain decides to catch up.

“Wait, you’re hurt.” Pulling away, Klaus kneels down, his legs arguing against the movement, and looks up at Five. “Show me.”

This seems to bring Five back to reality as well, because he pursed his lips and shakes his head. “We don’t-”

“ _Show_ me.” Klaus insists, and beside them Ben makes a relieved, snickering noise.

“Dad voice.” He whispers, and Klaus’ tone clearly has an effect, because Five’s eyes go wide, and the tiniest bit sad, and then he shrugs out of Klaus’ hands to tug up the vest and shirt, revealing a bandage wrapped around his middle.

Klaus’ fingers find it, gently feeling how tight it is, parental gaze wandering for any signs of blood. “Is this holding up ok? We could redo it, if we need to. How’re the stitches? Mom did them, and she’s normally pretty good-”

“Dad,” Five cuts in, “I’m fine. Honestly. I’ve had-” Immediately halting, Five redirects his words, “I’m fine. But we need to move. If Hazel and Cha-Cha are here, then it’s not going to take them long to figure out what I’m doing. I’ve already lost a day doing nothing, and we need to get to Meritech.”

“Meritech?” Klaus echoes, still on his knees. “Why?”

“I’ll…I’ll explain on the way. Have a shower, I’ll go eat something, and then we can go.”

Klaus cannot help it, as he sits on his knees and gazes up at his son’s face. A teasing smirk stretches his lips. “That’ll be a bath, you mean. No showers in the Hargreeve mansion.”

Five tuts and rolls his eyes, and there is the faintest flicker of amusement there. “Fine, have a _bath_ then. But be quick, we gotta get going.”

“Yes sir, Mr Hargreeves, sir!”

‘Quick’ and ‘half an hour’ are, in Klaus’ mind, the same thing, and rightfully deserved, considering the last few days. Five’s hovering outside the door by the time he climbs out of the warm, soapy bubbles, and he’s still towel drying his hair when Five finally loses patience and jumps into the room.

Ben laughs as Klaus all but launches the towel with an undignified shriek, thankfully dressed.

Five blinks at him with an expression that’s not smiling but not scowling either, before thrusting something forward into Klaus’ hands.

“What-”

“I found it in the first aid box. For your…” Five makes a gesture towards the back of his head, where the scabbed cut is.

Klaus smiles, and, despite the aching pains of torture and withdrawal, a warm, tingling feeling spreads throughout his chest. He doesn’t move towards Five, that would be pushing the boat too far, but going by the way Five quickly glances elsewhere, his appreciation is noted.

Five, even with everything he’s been through, is still _Five._

“Thanks, buddy.”

“Just…Hurry up, yeah? I’ve called a cab.” 

When Five poofs out the room, Klaus shares a look with Ben, and continues to get ready.

The taxi arrives fifteen minutes later.

“So, Meritech.” Klaus says, slouched in one of the backseats and tapping his fingers against his pant leg. “What and why, Hawaii Five-O?”

Shuffling to get comfortable, Five crosses his arms and adamantly stares out the window, notably chewing on his tongue. The moment drags out for so long that Klaus begins to wonder if he’s actually going to receive a reply, or if he’s going to have to prompt Five into talking.

The taxi clatters through a pothole, and his insides lurch as they sway from side to side.

Klaus tries not to think about the crushed drugs buried in the motel carpet.

Christ, he could do with them, though.

“In…In the apocalypse,” Five says suddenly, still not looking in his direction. With one arm curled around his stomach and trying not to squirm, Klaus waits for him to continue. “In the apocalypse, I found all of you.”

Ben, sat wedged on the floor between them, throws a confused look Klaus’ way, his nose scrunching with an obvious lack of understanding. 

Klaus is none the wiser, and carefully holds his tone flat and careful as he asks, “You found us?”

“Your bodies.”

Swirling insides and withdrawal jitters can fuck right off, because Klaus feels his body go stiff, frozen in that very second as he unintentionally gapes at Five, his hands tightening on the material of his clothes. Ben’s skin loses three shades, which is impressive considering the fact that he’s dead.

Cold sweat breaks out along Klaus’ spine, plastering his clean shirt against his back in an uncomfortable second skin, and, swallowing, his mouth suddenly parched, he gently rests a hand on Five’s shoulder, squeezing it.

“Five?”

“You all die. I didn’t find Vanya, but you and Luther and Allison and Diego, you all die. Along with the rest of the world.” Five is adamantly not turning to face them, his jaw stiff and rigid, clenching in a way that must be painful. Weakly, he adds, “I buried you.”

“Oh, _Five_.” Ben whispers.

“This,” Reaching into his pocket, Five shoves a piece of cloth in Klaus’ direction, who takes it carefully, “Was in Luther’s hand. He must’ve grabbed it just before he died. You were all together, fighting whatever caused the apocalypse. If we can find out who this eye belongs to, we find the cause.”

Klaus nods, leaning forward a little to give Ben a better view of the object.

The material is scratchy, stained with dirt and clearly from a place beyond Klaus’ imaginings. From it, he can distinctively smell the harshness of smoke, ashy and underscored with soot making for an altogether unpleasant fragrance. There is another scent clinging to it as well, one that takes a moment to identify, and when it finally clicks Klaus jolts.

The reek of death.

Slowly, he unwraps the scrap, revealing a perfectly round glass eyeball. The weight is solid in his hand, oddly smooth beneath his fingers, and the shiny outer layer reflects the scenery flying by the car window.

“Meritech.” Ben reads off the back. “There’s the reason for the trip, then.”

Biting his lip, Klaus carefully hands it back to Five, and the rest of the journey is travelled in silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone: Five’s going to be livid when he realises Klaus is gone! He’s going to be feral! He going to be-
> 
> Me: Unconscious for the entire thing. Sorry Dave, you’re Sir Not-Appearing-In-This-Film!
> 
>  
> 
> [Tumblr](https://ancientstone.tumblr.com/)


	29. 27th March 2019

****

**27th March 2019**

Harold Jenkins.

After all this time, the years Five spent wandering the wastelands of the apocalypse, the ever-increasing guilt from the deep stains that coat his hands in slick red, the knowledge that he was becoming exactly what his Dad tried to prevent for so long, all due to some man called _Harold Jenkins._

It makes Five’s blood boil in a way he cannot describe.

The name is so normal, so average, so unassuming, just another set of letters in a list of patients who have received a glass eye. In fact, according to the records, which were delivered by a very skittish man by the name of Lance who at first was more than happy to deny their requests, and then their demands, of handing the name over until Dad happened to mention a certain lady willing to share a few dirty secrets from beyond the grave, the eye had only been sent out yesterday evening for the hospital, and Jenkins has probably not even received it yet.

If they had been here the yesterday, they could have travelled with it and handed it over themselves.

Instead, Five was passed out and useless while his Dad was beaten.

His incompetence has put them days behind schedule with minimal information.

_Idiot._

If he had not been so careless with the hired guns, less cocky and more attentive to the situation, Five could have caught the order before it was sent out, laced it with poison or something toxic. He could have stopped the apocalypse without fully trying, snipping the bud before it had the hint of a chance to bloom.

Five could have prevented his Dad from being tortured by Hazel and Cha-Cha.

Dad is a few paces behind Five, struggling to keep up with his furious march down the street, so he does not see the way Five’s face twist, the way his shoulders hunch and jaw clenches, his hands fisted tight in the pockets of Dad’s childhood blazer.

They have not talked about the torture, not properly. There has not really been the time, not in the taxi or while they were badgering the Meritech guy, and Five suspects that this is also intentional on Dad’s part, wanting to keep the gruesome details to himself and protect Five from the guilt. 

Ultimately, a pointless endeavour. 

Five is cut from the same cloth as Hazel and Cha-Cha. The three of them were taught from the same manual, received the same training, and listened to the same lectures. All of them had to endure The Handler’s prattling about cogs and machines, and there was no escaping the weapon and practice runs every recruit was put through to test their ability.

There is nothing that can be left to the imagination, because Five has been there and done it. The pain his Dad went through is the pain he inflicted on so many others, so many innocent people going about their lives and saddled with the single unfortunate piece of luck that they were or knew the target intended to die.

God.

_Christ._

This week is a mess. So far, he has achieved very little, lost two days, been injured and weakened, and his Dad was snatched away with barely anyone noticing.

All that energy, all that time, all those resources he spent trying to get back, trying to wiggle out the correct equation among thousands of possibilities, and what does he do? He wastes them, lets the precious few hours he has slip by like grains of sand, allows his family to be torn apart and broken.

Five is not blind. He sees the way Dad struggles, twitches, keeps gulping heavily as if pushing something back. Five may have never seen withdrawal before, but he would give a damn good amount of money to bet that this is what Dad is going through right now. 

If it was not for the end of the world fast approaching, he would be insisting that Dad goes home and rest, or return to the Academy, at the very least, considering that they no longer have their tiny apartment anymore. The cool evening air is not doing him any favours, and as the sun rapidly starts to sink below the horizon, Five catches Dad starting to shiver.

His father does not say anything, keeping his concern and obvious suffering silent.

They plough on, Five weaving out a route and Dad simply following behind, trusting Five in knowing their ultimate destination, even if he would rather be anywhere else right now.

His Dad, who loves him.

For a split second, tears threaten to scold Five’s eyes, and he rapidly blinks them away. His teeth bite against the inside of his cheek.

The hug in the doorway to the bedroom had been warm, made warmer by Dad’s damp skin. There had been nothing but soft touches and concern, Dad kneeling in front of Five and meeting his eyes, insisting on checking the bandages and holding him as if Five was still his little boy, the child he used to help practice his spatial jumps.

Five’s Dad loves him even though he has seen what Five has become.

Five’s Dad loves him and allowed himself to be tortured for it.

If those bastards ever set foot near them again, Five is going to slaughter them.

“Ben would like to know where we’re going.” An arm flops across Five’s shoulders, and he forces himself not to flinch. “And I have to admit, I’m curious as well, Hawaii Five-O.”

Dad does well to hide the shake to his voice.

“Harold Jenkins somehow causes the apocalypse in the next four days.” Five states firmly. “A man causing something this cataclysmic must have at least one petty crime to his name.”

“So…” Dad drags the word out. “In order to get his record, we’re going to-”

“Break into the police station and find it, yes.”

“I…I feel like I should be having a conversation here, about morals and laws and stuff.” Sighing, Dad rubs his fingertips into his eyes, looking every bit as exhausted as he sounds. “Should I be doing that?”

Trying to teach morals to an assassin. Five wants to laugh, but he always wants to shut himself away and hide for the rest of his life.

“I’m fifty-eight.” He plays off, making a bit of a show of shrugging simply to push the other thoughts down to a place he cannot touch them. “If that helps anything.”

Dad does not reply, simply sighing again dejectedly.

They arrive outside the police station in silence. By now night has fallen over the city, but the building is still buzzing with life. Lights shine through from the other side of windows, and someone can be heard drunkenly shouting in the reception area, proclaiming that they are innocent and someone else is to blame. As things get heated, the shouting turns into violent protesting, and Dad squeezes Five’s shoulder closer to him.

Five ignores the hurt that flashes across his face as he detaches himself from the side-hug. “Wait here, I’m blink in and-”

“Wait, wait, wait. I’m not going to let you go running off, Five.” Steering them down a side alley beside the building where they are less likely to be overheard, Klaus ducks eye level with him. There is sweat lining his forehead.

“Dad, I don’t need my hand held, this is important-”

“I get that, I get that. I’m not trying to stop you, Five, honestly, I want to apocalypse stopped just as much as you.” The tone is somewhat condescending, but the expression on Dad’s face is earnest, and after everything that has happened Five has no doubts that his Dad believes him, especially after their talk in the taxi. “But think about this. You can’t just go jumping in there. You were hurt, _are_ hurt, and I know you haven’t eaten anything decent and sustaining. Mom’s not about anymore, and my first aid skills are…Shit, to be frank.”

“There’s no other way to do it.” Five insists. “The police can’t be blackmailed like the guy at the lab. I’ve been to these type of buildings before, I know where they keep this stuff. It won’t take me two seconds.”

“Five.” Dad holds his shoulders. “You’re going to tear your stitches. I don’t know how strong they are. Do you honestly believe they can withstand _teleporting?”_

Pursing his lips, Five tries his best to keep his scowl to himself, working his jaw slowly. 

Dad, unfortunately, has a point. Jumping is a complicated mess of equations and luck, and Five has on more than one occasion overdone himself and pushed his body beyond his limit. There is no denying the way it churns at his insides, grates them down and moulds them into mush, leaving Five curled up and useless for a good half hour afterwards, normally more.

However, they cannot simply stick around waiting for Five to heal. Having cared for his own injuries in the apocalypse, he knows from experience that they take longer than a few days, and the world simply does not have that luxury right now. The end of days is still very much upon them, looming a mere stone’s throw over the horizon, and milling around like this does nothing but tick away precious seconds on their dwindling timer.

Five’s personal health, or the destruction of life as they know it.

It is a simple decision to make, even if it will bring disappointment on his head.

“Sorry.” Five says honestly before jumping quick enough to block out Dad’s yelped protests.

He manages to land in a supply cupboard, hitting a cardboard box with his shoe and nearly knocking a shelf of paperclips as he whirls his arms out to steady himself.

Something snaps against his side and, as if they were nothing more than fragile blades of grass, the stitching breaks apart and the wounds open.

A hiss escapes Five’s lips, his body staggering against the wall behind him as he presses deeply against the pain, heat filling the once pristine white bandages. The sensation of ripping turns his stomach, jolting the bile within it, and Five swallows heavily, sucking in three deep breathes to try and bring himself back under control.

“Shit.” He intelligently spits to no one, unless there are any ghosts hanging around in here.

Just beyond the door he can hear the sounds of people, phones ringing and keyboards smacking away. Footsteps pass back and forth, light humming and easy chatter accompanying each. When he told his Dad that he knew these kinds of buildings, Five in actuality meant in a vague, basic-structure kind of way. 

If this was anything like The Commission, then what he is after is probably located near the heart of the building. In all likelihood it is going to take him several attempts to locate the right room, especially as he needs to keep out of sight.

Warmth spreads against his palm, soaking through the material of the shirt and vest. Unlike water, the liquid is heavy, tacky, a deep rich red that gleams on his hand.

It might take him several attempts to find what he needs, but Five is not honestly sure he could _manage_ several attempts.

There is a click, and a rattle, and a slash of light blooms over his face.

“What the-”

On pure instinct, Five jumps back to Dad.

“Five!” Dad exclaims, and suddenly there are hands on him, supporting his body as it sags sideways, his knees buckling as pain and copper paralyse his side. 

Groaning, Five feels himself sink into the material of Dad’s coat as they awkwardly collapse to the floor. The sharp scents of nicotine and deodorant sting at his nose, and as Five is propped up against Dad’s chest he tries to remember what Dad smelled like before he was sent away.

“You stupid, stubborn boy!” Dad snaps at him, though the heat is less scathing and more panicked, and the hands pat him down, quickly finding the source of the discomfort and easing Five’s grip away. “Shit. _Shit_. I said you’d tear them! Oh Christ, and we don’t have Mom. We need to get you back to the Academy, perhaps Luther still remembers his first aid training.” There is a second’s pause, before Dad grouches over his shoulder, “I know, I know!”

They are leaving.

They are heading back to the Academy.

Five’s lip curl.

He has the chance to learn something, to actually make progress this week instead of messing around and repeatedly failing, and he has gone and blown it again, just like that. 

This is Five’s fault, plain and simple. He cannot point the finger at Commission goons turning up sooner than expected, nor on Dad for convincing him to go out to Griddy’s in the first place.

Their clock ticks another minute closer to the apocalypse, and Five could hit himself for it.

“I’m fine.” He grits out, trying to push the concern away. Dad tuts in the way he used to when Five said something uncaring when he was a kid, and there is no mistaking the feeling of arms scooping under his legs and behind his back. Five wiggles, blinking up at the pale, damp face above him. “Dad, we need to get-”

“Five, no.” Dad says, stern and with an expression leaving no room for argument. 

He tries it anyway.

“ _Dad_ , we need-”

“No, Five!” Fingers grab at his cheeks, forcing Five head to tilt up almost painfully towards Dad’s, whose red-dampened eyes glare at him with parental care. The jarring movement alone would be enough to stun him, yet under the scared, love-fuelled expression Five finds himself frozen, something shaken to his core.

Five was not shouted at by his father much as a kid, minus a few rare instances that happen to all children. While Dad made it no secret when he was displeased, he often preferred a more disappointed tone rather than scathing, something Five is thankful for looking back.

Right now, however, he feels like a petulant child who has just frayed the last of his father’s nerves.

Seeming to realise the effect he has had on Five, Dad lessens his hold, stroking his cheek with his thumb and face turning gentler.

“We’re going back to the Academy. I _promise_ we’ll sort the apocalypse, but we can’t do anything if you bleed out before we have a chance.”

“Ok.” Five whispers without really thinking, relaxing into Dad’s hold. “Sorry.”

Dad presses a kiss into his forehead, and then, with a huff and a small noise of effort, lifts Five into his arms, momentarily staggering before marching out the alleyway.

Five’s head gets tucked just beneath his Dad's jaw, his nose buried into the crook of his neck. Around them, lights blur in Five’s vision and noise muffles in his ears. He tries to ignore it.

Failure is a disgusting sensation, one that slithers between internal organs to rest heavily on the sternum, and Five winces through another wave of pain and dribbling blood.

More time lost to his own incompetence. More hours nudged closer to the inevitability of the apocalypse. More chances for the mechanics of the end of days to whir into motion, speeding higher and higher until they are impossible to stop, no matter how many wrenches get jammed into their cogs.

All they have is a name. This means nothing. A name is not a result, because Harold Jenkins could do any number of things, with any number of people. He could be one tiny cog, nothing more than a tiny part of a much wider organisation. He could be something so insignificant that simply derailing him does nothing to save anyone. 

All Five has to go on is that Jenkins was there against the Academy, but what if this was a case of simply being in the wrong place at the wrong time? What if there were multiple people when it happened, and Luther was only able to grab the eyeball of one?

He does not want his Dad to die again.

“Five?” Dad calls above him, and he bounces Five a little in his arms. “You with me? Talk to me buddy, I need to know you’re still awake.”

Five groans, his face scrunching though he cannot identify if that is from the pain or the whirlwind of emotions currently battering the inside of his skull.

“I know, Five, I know, but I…” His voice turns wet, and Five glances up into watery eyes. Dad clears his throat, swallowing a few times. “I risk you…Not again, Five. I’m not losing you again.”

“Dad-”

“Hey, you two!” A voice bellows down the street behind them, startling them both. As Dad turns, Five catches sight of Diego furiously striding towards them with enough heat in his eyes to make Dad angle Five away and step back “Do you have any idea what the hell you’ve just done?”

“Diego?” Dad says, cautious and confused. “What-”

“The guys in masks, who the fuck are they?” Diego demands, and Five blinks blearily at the man looming over him, frowning.

“What?”

“You mean Hazel and Cha-Cha?” Dad asks, glancing nervously between the two of them.

Diego points a finger towards Five. “They were after you at Griddy’s, weren't they? Then again at the Academy. What’s going on? What do they want?"

Five swallows dryly, narrowing his eyes at Diego as he holds the back of Dad’s coat tighter in his hand. “It’s none of your concern.”

“Like shit it is.” Diego corrects immediately. “They killed my friend. I want to know what’s going on, and I want to know now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because they get to Meritech later, Harold has already taken Vanya to the cabin and therefore lost his eye, and the hospital put in an order for it. I imagine on the insurance forms, Harold was forced to use his real name, which is why Meritech has it.
> 
> Like I say, it’s hard to keep track of canon when everything’s out of whack, so just roll with it.
> 
> [Tumblr](https://ancientstone.tumblr.com/)


	30. 25th December 2005

****

**25th December 2005**

“We wish you a merry Christmas, we wish you a merry Christmas…” Klaus sings quietly, slowly swaying himself back and forth as he eyes over his supply bag. In his arm, Five dozes, not quiet asleep yet but nearing. “We wish you a merry Christmas, and a happy new year.”

Sat on the floor on the alleyway beside the bag, Ben watches him. “Is he out?”

“Almost.” Klaus hums, still keeping a soft sing-song voice to help lull Five off. Without missing a beat, he picks up, “Oh Christmas tree, oh Christmas tree-”

“Where did you learn all these?” Ben asks, genuinely intrigued. “The only time I’ve ever heard them was when we had TV interviews and stuff in December.”

“When I snuck out.” Talking in time with the tune, Klaus gently manoeuvres the six-week-old so he’s resting in the makeshift sling that Klaus’ been trying out the past few days. “Some of my drug dealers hung around shops.”

“Huh. Maybe don’t tell Five that when he’s older.”

His lips pinched together, Klaus eases his arms away, letting the sling completely hold Five beneath his winter coat. The baby wiggles against his chest, mildly adjusting, but he does not properly wake, instead drifting off after a short moment into sleep. 

Holding a thumbs up at Ben, Klaus carefully scoops up the bag and pulls it onto his back, cautiously pulling the coat further around himself to keep the chill off them as much as possible, the zip done up as high as he can without accidentally suffocating Five.

The city is strangely quiet today.

It’s been hard over the last few weeks keeping track of the date, something Klaus figures was probably important for tracking Five’s progress and milestones and any other fancy terms he read in the baby books at the library. However, as they got closer and closer to Christmas Day, the stores became handy reminders, plastering banners across their windows with _4 DAYS LEFT UNTIL CHRISTMAS_ all over them.

Even if they didn’t do that, Klaus would have no trouble picking out Christmas Day from the rest, because the city almost feels like a ghost town. The majority of shops have been closed for the day, and unless it’s for church most people seem to be staying at home, meaning there’s very little foot traffic about.

It’s nice, and for once Klaus doesn’t need to worry about stares and whispers following him around, but also provides a new problem.

Breathing into his gloved hands to try and warm them up, Klaus takes out the bottle from the coat pocket, the mixture already prepared inside.

Out of all the challenges of raising a baby while homeless, from daily diaper changes to finding safe places to sleep, one of the hardest is finding somewhere to warm up the bottles of formula milk.

There are a few restaurants and cafes that recognise Klaus now, that will quietly take the bottle from him and stick it in the microwave for a minute as long as he sits by the window and makes the place look busy. However, such kindness is limited to the hours these places are open and the staff on duty at the time, because not all of them are so willing to help the single father.

So far, all of them have been shut today.

He’s managed to delay Five’s hunger-fuelled crying by giving him an early nap, but it’ll only be so long before he waking and demanding food. This doesn’t actually help his cause, because walking into buildings with a wailing baby tends to put people off Klaus instantly, but Five’s too young to understand the complex social situations he has to navigate. As far as Five’s concerned, he’s due a feed, and he has to make himself heard in order to get one.

Ben must catch his expression, because he sighs as they start trudging across town. “Bet the others aren’t having to deal with this.”

Klaus laughs with little humour. “Nope.”

For them, Christmas Day is just another day, following their normal schedule and normal school exercises. Mom might have mentioned something once or twice, Klaus vaguely remembers, but that was more an informal thing rather than a celebration. He’s not entirely sure what said celebration entails but going by the advertisements surrounding him it’s something to do with food, presents, and trees inside houses.

Also, a guy in red with a white beard. What that is about Klaus hasn’t got a clue.

“I wonder if they miss us.” Ben muses quietly, and Klaus stops to blink at him. Ben shrugs, a little dejected. “Just a thought. I mean, they mourned me, but you didn’t even get to say goodbye.”

Klaus is very much aware he didn’t, and he’s also very aware that there’s been no fuss kicked up about his sudden disappearance. Dad seems to have paid off every interview his siblings have had since he left, because none of the interviewers have asked about it, and there haven’t been any missing posters around town. Granted, Klaus has been avoiding the Academy area, but the point remains.

“I did nick their money.” Klaus eventually shrugs, making light of the topic. “They’re probably just pissed.”

“Diego will kick your ass, next time you see him.”

“Yeah, probably.”

It’s pretty bold of Ben to assume he’s going to see him siblings again, but it’s also unlikely he’s going to be the only one to leave when they get the chance. Allison has been wanted different things from Dad for years now, pouring over magazines and watching celebrity gossip TV channels, and there’s no way Diego’s ever going to stick around all his life, so perhaps they may come stumbling his way.

It’d be nice for Five to meet them.

“Oh.” Klaus breathes, stopping short as a flake of white comes drifting down in front of his face. He and Ben watch it flutter to the ground, quickly followed by another, and then several more. Within moments the sky is full of snow, tumbling from grey clouds above.

“A white Christmas.” Ben hums. “I think that’s a song, too.”

Against his chest, Five snuffles, his face momentarily scrunching as a few flakes catch on his eyelashes. Klaus holds him closer, keeping a gloved hand on the back of his head to try and shield him from the cold. While Five is swaddled in multiple blankets, and the sling is tucked inside the coat he’s wearing, his face is still exposed for obvious reasons and he can already see the infant’s cheeks turning red.

Occasionally, Klaus wonders if he would’ve been better off never leaving at all.

It sucks, because then he simply ends up in a ‘pick your evil’ scenario. Here, at least, Klaus gets to be with his son, rather than having Five locked away in some room none of them know about. They get to hug, and cuddle, and coo nonsensical things at one another while Ben does his ghostly judging shtick. He and Five can play, and when they go to the library Klaus can pull out picture books and point things out to Five, even if Five doesn’t fully comprehend what is being shown to him.

How could Five’s mother have ever given him up?

On the flip side, however, it’s cold. The nights are long and dark and dank, and by now shivering just feels like a part of life. They spend days in dirty alleyways, and Five is forced to wear the same clothes over and over again simply because they have nothing clean. 

Perhaps this is why Dad hasn’t put any effort into finding him, because he’s simply waiting for Klaus to realise that a lifetime of being separated from Five is better than allowing his baby to suffer.

He doesn’t voice this to Ben.

As the snow begins to fall harder, more people start to emerge, like creatures crawling out of the woodwork. Families bundled in winter gear to trudging towards the park, kids with sleds hopeful that the weather will continue and allow them to make good use of their Christmas gifts.

Ben and Klaus watch from the edges of the park.

The playground slowly fills as the ground becomes whiter, the swing sets and the roundabouts and the slides swarming with energetic children hyped up on Christmas candy. Parents loiter around the edges, exchanging pleasantries and discussing their planned seasonal meals. One of the parents has brought out specially made cookies, and the children go swarming towards them with bright eyes and rosy cheeks.

Klaus’ thumb rubs against the little hat Five wears, trying to soak some of the heat from his palm through his glove and into the delicate scalp. Under the coat and against his stomach, he can feel Five’s feet brush against him, stretching in the confines of the multiple blankets.

A sign of the oncoming upset at having nothing to eat.

“Come on.” Ben says, breaking his stare at the idyllic scene before them. “Let’s go.”

Sighing, his breath dancing in front of his face, Klaus wills his feet onwards, skirting around the edges of the park in search of somewhere he can warm Five’s next feed, the bottle of milk in hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you note the time stamp, you’ll realise that the next month Klaus books into a motel with an unwell Five.
> 
> [Tumblr](https://ancientstone.tumblr.com/)


	31. 28th March 2019

****

**28th March 2019**

Despite Diego having the luxury of a car, they don’t reach the Academy until early morning. By this point Five has settled into a light doze against Klaus’ shoulder, something that can be allowed because according to Diego’s initial assessment, while the stitches have been ripped, the bleeding isn’t as serious as last time and has mostly stopped. It seems the last few days was enough for some of the injury to heal to the point where it can’t be reopened as easily.

That doesn’t make it any better, though.

It takes both him and Diego to get Five inside, awkwardly manoeuvring him out the car and into the medical room, sitting him down on the edge of the ready-made bed. Klaus holds Five’s shoulders, giving him a small shake to help rouse him while Diego fetches the first aid box, reappearing with a somewhat expert eye and a bottle of pills.

“You with us?” Diego asks as he and Klaus help Five take off his top layers. When Five groans and nods, he presses two painkillers into his hand, which Five swallows dry. “Great, now, while I sort this out, you’re going to tell me _exactly_ what’s going on.”

“Diego-” Klaus tries.

“No. I done messing about. I want answers, and he’s the only one who can give them.” Diego’s voice is fierce, and if Klaus wasn’t so preoccupied with Five he might find himself mildly shaken by the brashness.

All it takes is a glance for Klaus to understand. Eyes are the window to the soul, after all, and at the moment Klaus is witnessing something very close to home. Who Diego’s friend was, he hasn’t got a clue, but his brother is dealing with emotions he knows all too well.

Reaching out, Klaus rests his hand on Diego’s arm, squeezing it in just a way to make Diego pause, and then continue working.

Letting Five shift from under his grip so he’s at a better angle for Diego, Klaus brushes a few stray strands of thick black hair behind his son’s ear, waiting until he has Five’s attention before speaking.

“I think the time for secrets is over, buddy.”

Something flickers across Five’s face, and Klaus doubts it the result of Diego’s careful prodding at his side. His face is pale, with a horrible, drawn look to it, but it’s less intense than before, one of the few positives Klaus is willing to take in this situation. 

“I-”

“No excuses.” Klaus interrupts firmly, taking Five’s hand. “Diego lost someone tonight, so he’s owed an explanation, and considering what’s happened the last few days, I’d like a full one myself.”

Ben stays quiet, but Klaus catches him nodding in his direction out of the corner of his eye, and he doesn’t miss the way Diego very briefly glances up at him before continuing his task.

Looking between them, Five swallows, squeezing at the fingers holding his own. “Ok.”

Diego momentarily ducks out the way, depositing the old, blood-soaked bandages courtesy of Mom on the floor before taking a needle and threading it.

Five starts with a voice that’s small, holding an odd croak to it and the tone similar to the reluctant one he had in the taxi. “When I was…When the stuff with Reginald happened, I was overloaded with energy that I couldn’t control, and my powers went haywire.” Five pauses, nibbling his lip and his eyes darting to Diego. “Do you know what my powers are?”

“Teleportation.” Diego says shortly. “Continue.”

The bluntness makes Five blink, but he nods. “Well, apparently they’re also time travel, because I was shoved forward into the future. It…It was…” The hand holding Klaus’ tightens, and squeezes back with just as much force. “It was a wasteland. Everything was either _on_ fire or _had been_ on fire. Nothing survived. I found your bodies. You, and Dad, and Allison and Luther, you all together. You’d were to stop whoever caused the apocalypse and were killed for it.” 

Ben has strayed closer, hovering beside them unseen as he listens, his arms crossed and his jaw slowly working. The grip Five has on Klaus has now grown to the point where it’s near painful, but Klaus doesn’t move to make Five let go.

“In Luther’s hand I found a glass eye, one that belonged to the person who started the apocalypse. We found out who that is today.” He briefly peeks towards Klaus, but then seems to lose a bit of nerve and snaps his gaze elsewhere. “Harold Jenkins.”

“Doesn’t explain the guys in masks.” Diego pipes up, and Klaus and Ben simultaneously send him a scathing look.

Five clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth, and his efforts to try and rein in his clear frustration play out on his face.

“Give me a _chance_ , and I will.” He growls lowly, the fact he’s currently being sewn up not withering the strength in his voice at all. After a second, he continues. “I was in the apocalypse for forty-five years, give or take, doing anything I could to survive. I lived on canned food, cockroaches, scavenging the city for supplies, it was…” Swallowing deeply, Five lets out a slow breath. “Then one day a woman known as The Handler appeared.”

Diego visibly blanks, as does Klaus, blurting, “The what?”

Five makes a hissing noise. “Butt in again and I won’t tell you a single thing.”

“Hey-”

“Diego!” Catching Diego’s shoulder, Klaus stops him from rising to from his crouched position, having to use a good deal of force to keep him there. “Don’t. Just let him speak. None of this is easy for anyone.”

Under his hand, Diego fumes, but he finally nods.

Five’s fingers squeeze Klaus’ again, and he closes his eyes.

“The Handler works for a group known as The Commission, an organisation that exists outside time and space.” Five is swaying a little, and Klaus goes to steady him. Five shivers under his palm. “They monitor everything, making sure what’s supposed to happen, happens. But sometimes people do things that alters the timeline, makes a decision that results in wildly different outcomes, and every time this occurs, The Commission get a report. It’s analysed, and then they dispatch field agents who carry out _corrections_ , as they call them. This is what Hazel and Cha-Cha are, trained assassins who take out anyone who alters the timeline.”

Swallowing again, Five tilts his head, opening his eyes and staring off into the other side of the room and away from Diego and Klaus. Unknowingly, he’s facing Ben, whose face softens. Silently, Diego takes out a fresh roll of bandages.

“When The Handler arrived in the apocalypse, she came with the goal to recruit me. Apparently, they’d been watching me ever since I arrived, and they wanted me to sign a contract to work as one of their field agents.”

Finally, a click of understanding taps on in Klaus’ brain, and he can see the exact moment it happens for Ben, too. Their equally as horrified expressions meet, Ben holding his gaze with a heaviness that makes the world seem as if the Earth’s just ramped up the gravity scale.

“Oh.” He breathes, because what else can he say?

Five winces, his lips twitching as he keeps his mouth a straight, thin line.

“I took their offer, and, for a while, I worked for them. I was the best of the best, and gained a reputation, but what they didn’t realise was that I was biding my time, waiting until I could find the right equation so I could get back to…So I could save the world. When I broke my contract, they sent Hazel and Cha-Cha to terminate me.”

Rolling his head back towards them, Five fixes an unblinking stare on Diego, who stares back, conflict and pain riddled across his scarred face. There’s a drowsiness to Five’s eyes, one that leaves a lump in Klaus’ throat and a need in his fingers to put his child to bed.

His son. His poor, _poor_ son.

This is worse than being homeless, than all the times they were low on money and struggling to get by. Then, Klaus at least had the option to do something about it, to try and fix a broken situation. Here, there’s absolutely nothing he can do to ease the exhausted pain riddling his baby, and the fact shatters something within in his chest.

“That’s why they’re after me, because I’m trying to change the timeline. When your friend got in their way, they became fair game.”

“And now they’re _my_ fair game.” Diego says, tying the last of the bandages. He stands, his hands fisting tightly at his sides and his face pinched with a dark emotion that practically rolls off him in waves. 

“For fuck’s sake.” Ben huffs lightly, his arms so tightly crossed over his chest it’s a miracle he hasn’t snapped an arm in two yet. “He’s going to get himself-”

“No.” Five immediately rebuttals, his words unknowingly crossing over Ben’s. “These aren’t not your average hooligans, Diego, they’re professional-”

“Yeah, we’ll see about that.” Diego is moving for the door before he’s even finished talking, his shoulders tense and hunched, like a lion ready to spring on its prey. “I’m gonna get those bastards for what they did to Patch-”

He cuts off with a yelp, which is simultaneously echoed by Klaus as Five vanishes from under his hand with the sharp blue smack of a spatial jump, reappearing in front of Diego in a proximity Klaus might consider dangerous. Five instantly staggers, but somehow remaining standing, sweat coating his brow.

“You go after Hazel and Cha-Cha and you’ll be dead.” The razor-cutting bluntness to Five’s voice is enough to capture Diego’s full attention, a burning emotion flicking in Five’s eyes as he glares at his uncle with an intensity Klaus hasn’t seen for a while. As he talks, however, the energy bleeds from his voice. “They won’t give you so much as the _chance_ to glance their way. The apocalypse is in three days, and we don’t time for personal vendettas. If you let this get away from you now, then the whole world goes up in flames and it’ll be the end of everything. No more cops and robbers, no more Griddy’s doughnut shop, nothing. Just fire and ash.”

His son sways again, and this time can’t quite manage to right himself before his legs buckle beneath him. 

Klaus, Diego, and Ben all make a diving leap forward to catch the suddenly unconscious boy. Ben goes souring straight through, much to his very verbal distaste, and Klaus is too far back to do anything by grab Five’s wrist, but Diego’s able to latch onto and support Five’s deadweight as they all sink to the ground together.

“Jesus…” Diego breathes, double-checking the bandages he’s only just finished. They come up clean, much to Klaus’ relief, but Five’s face is still a sickly shade of gross, dark circles under his eyes. Diego looks at him. “I think he just passed out. He’s exhausted.”

Strangely, a laugh works its way out of Klaus’ throat at that, high and mildly panicked. Sitting back on his ankles in a mess of limbs, he pushes his hair away from his forehead, letting the heel of his palm dig into his skin. 

“Klaus?” Diego asks, and there’s considerably less heat to his voice now, as if the fight somehow left him as Five went under.

“Sorry, sorry.” Waving his brother off, Klaus blinks wetly down at Five. “Just…It’s been a rough few days. I think it’s finally catching up to me.”

“Yeah, no shit.” Shoving Klaus off him to give him some room, Diego hefts Five up and turns back to the medical bed, laying Five out carefully. If he notices Klaus makes no move to follow, or even get off the floor, he doesn’t mention it. “All that stuff, about an apocalypse, and The Commission, is it true?”

“Hm?”

Diego shuffles, his back strictly to Klaus. As silent as the phantom he is, Ben slowly narrows the space between him and Diego, leaning around to gauge his brother’s expression with intelligent eyes. Him lips purse at what he sees, and then he glances down to Five.

“Is it true?” Diego repeats. “That he’s really here to save the world?”

“Yeah.” Klaus nods tiredly. “Yeah, it is. Trust me, Hazel and Cha-Cha were desperate to find him, and when I mentioned Five saying something about the end of times, they lost their shit.”

“Fuck.” Diego breathes, and then adds, near yelling, _“Shit! Fuck!”_

“Yeah.” Klaus says again, and the silence hangs loudly in the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this fic, Five's full name is Five Unconscious-All-The-Goddamn-Time Hargreeves!
> 
>  
> 
> [Tumblr](https://ancientstone.tumblr.com/)


	32. 29th March 2019

****

**29th March 2019**

When he was a kid, Five wasn’t the most patient little bugger.

It gave them a lot of heart attacks and Five several rounds of grounding over the years, because he had a habit of vanishing to the next destination instead of letting his father and uncle walk him there. When he was really little, a time when counting to ten was considered challenging and the names of colours were easily muddled together, it was difficult to explain to Five that while his powers are second nature, they couldn’t be treated as such.

Ben can remember Klaus loudly lamenting how unfair it was. They all, with the exception of Allison and himself, struggled to exclude their powers from daily life. It’s not exactly something that can be switched off like a light, and most of them aren’t even aware when their powers are being used.

Luther is naturally strong and has been since the moment he could crawl. How the Hell he is meant to know the maximum strength of an average person, when he could never feel what those limitations were to begin with, is beyond Ben. It’s like telling a blind person to just stop being blind and _see_ , it doesn’t work like that.

There’s no way Diego will ever understand what it’s like to miss a throw, either. He started life nailing perfect headshots at their nannies with his bottle, and his brain is wired in such a way that he can’t work out _how_ to misjudge his aim, even if he tried.

For Klaus, the only time he can ever ‘turn it off’ is when he’s high, and which is not an option for a person’s entire life. Unless he loses his sight and turns deaf, the ghosts are always going to be there, popping up when he least expects them and making Klaus jump like a startled alley cat.

Even the first little Number Five, who is so distant in their memories that Ben’s certain that they made most of those ‘memories’ up, had no control over what he did and didn’t phase through. That’s what killed him in the end, the poor child. Ben tried not to think about him when their Five reached the same age.

With Allison and Ben, it’s different. 

As long as Allison doesn’t start a sentence with, “ _I heard a rumour_ …” then she is in the clear. As for Ben, the last thing he ever wants is to unleash _The Horror_ , as Dad so aptly named it. On missions, he would slink to the back of the group and pray to be forgotten about until all the goons were either tied up or dead.

Death has somewhat solved that problem, though admittedly Ben isn’t sure how grateful he is for that.

Five falls into the Luther-Diego-Klaus category. 

Considering his first ever spatial jump was an act of self-preservation, it’s hardly surprising. Unfortunately, this made trying to convince Five not to use his power publicly in anything other than a life-threatening situation a complete nightmare, one that dissolved into confused temper tantrums and scary moments of self-fear that made Ben and Klaus stammer with reassurances and apologies.

Kids are kids, they get bewildered with complex ideas easily, and whenever Five couldn’t understand something he’d get cross with himself. He wouldn’t realise it was the injustice of the situation as a whole, and just pin it as a failure on his part instead.

Ben can clearly remember Klaus turning to him once, as Five sat sobbing grumpy tears in the designated ‘naughty corner’ for shouting at them, with an expression so heartbroken that Ben had reached out and given him a hug. It didn’t last long, because keeping Ben solid enough for physical touch for extended periods wasn’t Klaus’ strong suit back then, but Klaus gave him a grateful smile afterwards, wobbly and wet. 

Five learned, eventually, and getting better control helped, but he always retained an inpatient air because of it, the repression of the ability to be anywhere instantly bubbling to the surface in the way of taping fingers and clicking tongues, excess energy looking for a release.

Both of them found it hard to gripe at Five about it as he grew. In a perfect, ideal world Five would be able to bounce around however much he liked without the fear of being discovered, and they wouldn’t have to worry about him having to hold himself back in situations.

Just like Luther, Diego, and Klaus, disappearing and reappearing instantly is a part of Five, and that won’t change.

Despite being years older now, clearly Five is very much the same.

Sat in the passenger seat of Diego’s car, Ben leans against the back, peering around the headrest at his nephew who is adamantly staring out the window, his knee bouncing in a way that’s all too reminiscent of Klaus. 

From Ben’s position in the front, the similarities between the two are as noticeable as anything. The slim frames, the cut jaws, the strong noses. Even Five’s hair, though straighter than Klaus’ unruly locks, has a slight curl to it, especially, Ben knows from experience, when ruffled or wet. 

The couple of times when they got caught in the rain when he was little, they’d get back to the apartment only for Five to take his hood off and reveal small ringlets around his forehead. It made Klaus coo lovingly.

Ben doesn’t startle when he realises Klaus has caught him watching, but he does raise his eyebrows and indicate over to Five, who has now taken to absently picking at a loose thread of the school blazer sleeve, his teeth gnawing along his lip.

“Talk to him.” He urges.

Klaus’ eyes dart from him to Five and then back again, his tongue darting out to run along dry lips. There’s considerably less twitching than there was yesterday, Ben notices, and his skin seems a shade healthier.

“Um, Five…” Klaus starts, as strong as ever. Ben rolls his eyes skyward and shakes his head. Klaus ignores him. “I know…Well, I don’t really, but I, um, I understand that everything you told us yesterday was hard-”

“I don’t want to discuss it.” Five cuts in sharply, his gaze fixed solely on the alleyway beside the police station which Diego disappeared down. Incidentally, it’s also the one that Five collapsed in last night. Funny how life works.

“Five-”

“Dad.” Turning his head as if it’s the worst thing he can be doing right now, Five momentarily catches Klaus’ eyes and then breaks the gaze, staring down at his shoes. “It’s…Complicated. The apocalypse is in two days, and I’d rather we focus on that right now. We can go over everything else later, if you want, but not now. Just, not now, please?”

Something soft and broken crosses Klaus’ face, and Ben watches as he reels it in and replaces it with understanding. “Ok, ok we won’t.”

“Thank you.”

They all jump as Diego clatters open the car door, dumping himself into the seat in a mess of sharp knives and stiff movements. Five sits up, uncrossing his arms to grab onto Ben’s seat and shift forward so he’s hovering in the middle, peering expectantly at Diego. Klaus leans over as well, moving so he and Five are shoulder to shoulder. Five doesn’t notice, but Klaus and Ben share a small smile.

“Well?” Five presses.

“Those assholes.” Diego hisses, then yells, “Those goddam assholes! What the fuck? Why the fuck would I kill her?”

“Kill who?” Klaus asks.

“Eudora! Those pricks in there think I'm the murderer!”

Five has the sense to look somewhat uncomfortable at the situation, wisely keeping his mouth shut as Diego fumes for several more minutes, mainly talking to himself but snapping whenever Klaus attempts to intervene. Eventually he loses steam, pulling out something from under his jacket.

“Here.” He says curtly, doing a very good impression of a bull which has finished fighting but is still worked up about it.

Immediately taking it, Five flips the file open, Klaus tugging one side down so he can see as well.

“Harold Jenkins.” Klaus reads off, and then whistles lowly. “Found guilty of murdering his father aged thirteen. Christ, he did twelve years for it as well.”

“So, the guy who causes the apocalypse is a bastard.” Diego states. “Colour me surprised.”

“Hey, he shares a birthday with us!”

Five hums thoughtfully. “Do you think he has powers? It could explain how he causes the apocalypse.”

“Possibly.” Starting the car, Diego pulls on his seatbelt as Klaus forces Five to sit back and do the same. “Dad always said there were others.”

“There’s an address.” Five says. “Here, I’ll read it off-”

Diego pulls out into the road, joining city traffic and interrupting, “Hang on, we’re going to the Academy first.”

“What? Why?”

“If we’re gonna kill this dude, and if he’s got powers, then I want to make sure I’m fully armed.” Glancing in the rear-view mirror, he adds. “And there’s no way The Commission won’t try something if we plan to murder this guy.”

“Fully armed.” Ben scoffs, sitting back and propping his feet onto the dashboard. “Says the guy who currently looks like a ninja porcupine.”

 

Ben perches on the bottom steps of the stairs, absently watching Five pace up and down the empty hallway in front of him. One of his hands in the blazer pocket, and Ben can see the material shifting as he rolls the glass eye within between his fingers. The distant, glazed look to his face is vaguely worrying, but as of yet Five doesn’t seem too badly sucked into his own mind, so he leaves him be.

Diego’s vanished off to his bedroom to collect what he calls his ‘ _proper knives_ ’, though in Ben’s opinion all knives are knives and what makes the ones in his room slice people open any better from the ones on his belt he hasn’t got a clue. Maybe they play songs or something. Ben wouldn’t put it passed Diego to have a theme tune.

Klaus hovers in the doorway, flicking through the file with a pinched expression. He’s been reading since Five sacrificed it as they pulled into the driveway, going from document to document with an expression Ben can only describe as parental. 

Ben doesn’t know what the file contains on Jenkins’ childhood and upbringing, or what he experienced in prison, but if they’re currently planning on killing the man then he’s not entirely sure he wants to know.

Seems a bit counter-intuitive, to find as many ways to sympathise and relate to the person they plan to murder.

The yelp Klaus makes when the front door opens makes Five stumble to a stop, blinking at Allison who glances around in confusion. A few moments later Luther walks in as well, nearly bumping into her.

“What’s going on?” She asks, and Ben watches as Five holds himself straighter, taking his hand out his pocket.

The last time they all talked it didn’t go too well.

Ben had been there for the kitchen disaster, Klaus far too high to manifest him so he could hug his nephew, but that little fact didn’t stop him from shouting his head off as Five verbally slaughtered his siblings.

He understands why Five was like that now, but at the time all he wanted to do was simultaneously coddle and ground the little gremlin.

“Long story made very, very short.” Klaus chirps, noticing the way Five’s stiffened and walking across to loop and arm around his son’s shoulder. “Five went to the future, it was an apocalyptic wasteland, it’s meant to happen in two days and we’re going to go deal with the guy who starts it.”

Allison blinks, and then blinks again. “What?”

“What do you mean the apocalypse is in two days?” Luther frowns, a hint of disbelief his voice.

Seeing the way Five bristles, Ben stands and joins them, hissing at Klaus, “Convince them now or Five’s gonna snap.”

“I mean what I said.” Klaus says firmly, squeezing Five’s shoulder. “Those guys who attacked the house? They’re after him because he’s trying to stop it.”

“The boy.” Allison and Luther breathe at the same time, exchanging a look. 

Pursing her lips, Allison steps forward, her gaze on Five in a way that’s similar to Klaus when he’s acting the concerned father. Of course, Klaus isn’t the only parent in the room. 

Allison asks carefully, “They were after you?”

“They work for a former employer-”

“And that’s an even _longer_ story.” Klaus jumps in. “So, we’ll leave that for later.”

“Wait, you’re going to go deal with who?” Luther suddenly asks, eyeing the file.

Klaus hands it over to him. “Harold Jenkins. The man who starts it, apparently, which is _another_ long story. Christ do we have any that don’t take half an hour to explain?”

“He lost an eye before the apocalypse and gets a glass one. I found the glass one and used the serial number to get the name.” Five states matter-of-factly, the simplicity of his words making Klaus exaggerate a pout. The show is worth it, in Ben’s opinion, when the corners of Five’s mouth tilt up.

“Allison, look at this.” Luther tilts the file towards her, and she gasps loudly, her hand going to her mouth.

“Leonard Peabody. I knew it, I _knew_ it! I was just at his house!”

“What?” Five’s head snaps up to her, his eyes intense.

“And he’s been here.” Luther adds in, earning a pale look from Five. “Literally the other day. Wait, shit, Vanya’s with him.”

Klaus glances uncertainly at Ben. “And why is our dearest sister with the man who causes the apocalypse?”

“They’re dating.” Allison shakes her head, frustration building. She tightens her fist. “Damn it, I told her he was trouble. And this,” She gestures at the file, “Is why I could find anything at the library!”

Footsteps on the stairs make them all turn towards Diego, who pauses mid-step when he notices everyone staring. He blanks.

“What?”

“Turns out our sister’s dating a maniac!” Klaus announces.

“Oh.” Diego says. “Crap.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh crap indeed, Diego
> 
> [Tumblr](https://ancientstone.tumblr.com/)


	33. 30th March 2019

****

**30th March 2019**

Today has officially been the most productive day since Five got back.

This is a pathetic revelation, in his opinion. He should have been this productive on day one. Five promised himself, in those dark and ash-filled days of the apocalypse, when breathing was hard and clean water near impossible to find, that he would do everything in his power to keep his eyes on the prize and stay on top of what he needed to do. 

There is too much at stake for him to go screwing things up, too many lives living in an unknown danger, including his Dad’s.

Yet here he is, two days until the end of _something_ , and only now is he on his way to kill the man whose glass eye he has been carrying for decades.

Five’s teeth grit hard in his mouth, so tight that it is a miracle they do not crack from the pressure.

Luther opted to stay at the Academy, because according to him this was all linked to the goddamn moon somehow. Exactly why Luther came to that conclusion Five does not know nor care, it just means he will have one less witness to him snapping Jenkins’ neck in two.

Everyone else is bundled into Diego’s car, Allison in the front directing Diego to the address of a grandmother’s house. Apparently, she visited Jenkins’ house only an hour ago in an attempt to find Vanya only to discover it empty.

“I thought about breaking in.” She says, reading through the file. “But then a neighbour saw me and said he’d gone away for a few days, so I had to make a show of leaving. After that I bumped into Luther, and we had lunch.”

“What, couldn’t rumour this neighbour away?” Diego asks.

Allison sends him a scathing, hurt look. “I don’t do that anymore.”

Once, in the apocalypse, Five found a magazine.

In truth it had been destined for his fire, because finding decent kindle was a nightmare when everything was either burnt to a cinder or soaked through from rains. However, something about this one had given him pause when he spotted it in the pile.

It had been one of those gossip ones, the type that go on about fad diets and latest beauty crazes and fuel despicable tabloid behaviour of making other human lives a show for the general public. The inside pages had been a mess of star sign predictions and lip gloss reviews, but one article, right in the middle, had made him freeze and stare as the breeze flipped the pages about. 

Five had cautiously taken the magazine, slowly at first, as if it may bite him, and then hungrily, reading and then rereading the words printed on stark white paper over and over again.

Claire, a fellow Academy offspring.

Huh.

He was an accident, Five knew by that point, something that had unintentionally appeared out of the ether to make his Dad’s life Hell, Uncle Ben fret, and Reginald Hargreeves blow a several caskets and then some. 

Claire is different, she was _planned._

Born outside of the tyranny of the Academy, Allison and her husband, Patrick, according to the magazine, had taken the time and effort to consider all their options and organise their finances and lifestyles to suit a child entering their lives. They all did sports together, so the magazine said, and at the time of the issue’s release they had not long moved to a new house to be somewhere with better transport to her school.

Five cannot lie, but there was a spark of envy that ran through him at that point. 

Dad worked so hard for them, for their apartment and their food and their clothes, and here was this child being severed everything on a silver platter. She never had to worry about her parents not eating so she could, or about mold growing on the wall of her bedroom. She never needed to check her bed for bugs at night, nor did she have a deep-rooted fear of rats which developed at a young age.

Then Five remembered that Claire was dead, along with everyone else in the wasteland, and he did not feel quite as envious anymore.

He would like to meet her, though, just to have someone else to rant about all the second-hand Umbrella Academy bullshit he has to put up with. The again, he has always been a bit awkward around children, so maybe he will wait until she is older and understands better.

“Diego!”

“Shit!”

The car goes swerving to one side in a squeal of tyres, Dad yelping and flinging himself over Five, pressing them down into the seats as gunshots smack into the side of the car. The glass of the windows crack and shatter, sprinkling sharp dust across Dad’s back. 

Allison fumbles with her door and stumbles out, taking cover behind the body of the car as Diego crawls across the join her. Five and Dad follow quickly them, peering over the trunk at their attackers.

“See, I told you!” Diego yells over the gunfire. “I said The Commission would be waiting!”

Their own car parked across the entranceway to an off-road track that trails off deeply into the woods, Hazel and Cha-Cha stand masked and armed, claiming the high ground with an air of arrogance. With their faces hidden away it is difficult to know exactly what they are planning, but at this point in time Five does not care.

“It’s them.” Dad breathes, and then snaps around to Five with an expression of knowing panic. “Don’t-”

Five jumps and lands behind Hazel and Cha-Cha, his hands in his pockets and trying to ignore Dad’s panicked yells further down the road. He is, technically, at a disadvantage right now, lacking any kind of weapon except his bare hands.

He has worked with less.

“You know,” He starts conversationally, jutting his chin up when they both spin around to face him, Hazel keeping his gun firmly on the others while Cha-Cha pokes hers in his direction, “There are easier ways to get my attention.”

“The Commission wants answers, Five. You broke your contract.” Cha-Cha spits, and if she thinks she is being in any way subtle as she starts towards him then she is thoroughly mistaken. She knows that he will be gone before she is even finished pulling the trigger.

There would be no time to for Cha-Cha to defend herself if he so decides to jump away and snap her neck, and she knows it.

“Speaking of which,” Hazel jumps in, half attempting to be a distraction for his partner, yet also speaking to Five in a strangely admiring way, “That job you did in Calhoun? That shit’s legendary, I can’t-”

“Time and place.” Cha-Cha snaps with a familiarity that speaks of long spiels of previous dialogue she has no wish to hear again.

In the corner of his eye, Five picks up on the movement in the trees. 

The Commission teaches you many things, from assassination to infiltration, spying and stalking to flat out slaughter, and yet, as Five stands on the dirt road with Diego trying to sneak forward and his Dad’s pale face staring horrified at him, he cannot help but think they missed a class.

Bright red gas masks _do not_ blend in with nice green scenery.

How dumb are these bastards?

The second the sound of bullets smack into the air, Five jumps, reappearing behind one of the masked goons and promptly breaking their neck. He grabs the gun as it tumbles, taking aim and mowing down three more as knives go soaring passed his ear, hitting a fourth.

“Five! Get back here!” Dad bellows at him, his voice vaguely reminiscent of when Five was a toddler and mastered the art of running off down the supermarket aisles, yet also strained and tight and panicked. “Please!”

He does, landing and instantly wrapping his arms around Dad’s middle, dragging both of them down just in time to miss Hazel’s next round in their direction. The bullets skim like stones across water against the car’s paintwork.

Five clears his throat, slightly winded from the impact of hitting the hard earth. “Be carefu-”

Dad latches onto Five’s shoulders with a grip that should not be possible. “Don’t you ever do that again!” He shouts in Five’s face, voice pitched high as he roughly shakes him. “Fuck, she could’ve _shot you_ -”

“I know what I’m doing! I’m fine!”

“But-”

Five cuts him off sharply. “Dad, I’m _literally_ trained for this! I can-” A surprised yelp makes them both jump.

Prying the hands off him, Five peers over the car hood at Diego who is currently going one-on-one with Cha-Cha, legs and arms flying in exaggerated, flouncy moves, and Allison, who has managed to snatch a gun and is currently trying to keep Hazel away from Diego while ducking from Commission shots between trees. Somehow, Hazel has lost his mask, and Cha-Cha’s is looking pretty battered.

Dad moves up beside him, taking in the scene. “Shit, this is like being a kid again.”

Five assesses the scene. “They need help.”

Dad makes a displeased noise. “Five-”

“Just trust me, Dad.” Five meets his eyes, forcing Dad to see the carefully constructed calm within them, the one hammered into him from job after job in warzones and burning buildings and moments of human horror.

There is an expression on Dad’s face, torn and scared, blown disproportionally vulnerable from concerned, unlimited love. His skin pale from recent torture and withdrawal, and beneath the collar of his shirt some of the bruises still remain, unsightly dark things that look painful and gross. 

It hurts to see, and something he does not wish to analyse aches within Five’s chest, but he waits, letting Dad come to the decision he cannot escape. Neither of them can.

Glancing up at his siblings, then to thin air where Uncle Ben must be, Dad sighs, an uncomfortable, unhappy acceptance on his face.

“Ok. Ok, fine, we’ll help, but we’re going to have a conversation about this later, Five, like it or not.”

Five takes Dad’s hand and squeezes it hard. “Thank you.”

Dad squeezes back. “What do we do?” 

“This is obviously a distraction. They’re diverting us from our task. We need to get around them and get to Jenkins.” 

At this moment Allison runs out of bullets and switches to straight up lobbing the empty gun at Hazel’s head, retreating back to the cover of the car as Commission goons hurry towards her. She’s breathing hard as she squats next to Five, glancing him over with a familiar gaze of a parent.

“We’re wasting time.” She huffs, wincing when Diego takes a nasty kick to the leg. He manages to readjust, spinning around and slicing at Hazel across the front as Cha-Cha recovers from the nasty whack he just inflicted to her head. The pink dog mask has completely fallen away now, and blood dribbles down the side of her face.

Bullets sing, and Allison, Dad, and Five all instinctively duck.

“Right.” Five says firmly, taking control. “Here’s the plan. Me, Diego, and Dad will deal with these lunatics. Dad, you learnt how to shoot at the Academy, right?”

“Kinda? I could probably work it out.”

“Great. Allison, take Diego’s car and go find Jenkins and Vanya. Deal with Jenkins.”

She gives him a bewildered look. “I…What do you want me to do? I can’t _kill_ him!” She protests. “I don’t-” She cuts off with a loud yelp as two masked men round the car hood, puffing up dirt as bullets pound into the ground.

Five hisses. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

Jumping, he grabs onto the back of one, snapping the neck while at the same time twisting the body around. The goon’s gun continues to fire in the split second it takes the man to realise he is being turned and killed, effectively slicing his teammate in half in the process. Hot iron sprays across Five’s face, christening his forehead.

He spits it out.

“Allison.” He growls, fixing her wide-eyed expression with a piercing glare while tossing both guns towards Dad. “I don’t give a shit that you don’t rumour or want to kill him. Corner Jenkins, lock him in a room, knock him out for all I care. I can deal with it when I get there, but the longer we leave it the more chance he has at running off somewhere else or doing something to Vanya.”

Five does not get a chance to wait for her approval, because at that moment Diego goes flying, Hazel standing above him with his gun raised, and Five jumps across to shove his entire body into Hazel’s side, sending the man sprawling heavily to the floor.

Diego rolls up onto his feet, holding his side as if he has got a stitch. Cha-Cha stalks towards them as Hazel clambers upright, Cha-Cha seeming to have lost her gun and Hazel blinking in a realisation that the fall has damaged his own.

“I had it under control, tiny.” Diego grouses.

“Only if you have a death wish.”

There are only six goons left now, and from their position higher up the path Five can see three of them grouping up and stalking towards the car cautiously. He can also see the way Allison is crawling into the driver’s seat, too low for the goons to notice, and Dad taking up a position to strike the other three huddled among the trees out.

“Here.” Diego says as they stand back to back, eyeing up their opponents. Something cool is placed into Five’s palm, and after a second he realises that it is a knife. “If you’re really Mr Super Assassin, show me what you’ve got.”

“What, trying to make up for all the missed uncle-nephew bonding time? You owe me a lifetime supply of presents, you know.”

Diego snorts, and Five can hear the humour in his voice. “Sure. Happy birthday, merry Christmas, and have a spooky Halloween.”

Tossing the knife from hand to hand, Five grins. “It’s what I’ve always wanted.”

It is strange, how they both spring forward in perfect synchronisation as if they have spent a lifetime training together and knew the exact cue when to strike. 

Diego goes for Cha-Cha, the blades in both hands singing as they slide through the air, arms blocking and kicking and punching. They are evenly matched in height and build, which cannot be said for Five and Hazel as they engage.

Hazel is strong where Five is not, and he has a height that easily looms over him the same way a bear might over a rabbit, however just like a rabbit Five is fast, darting and zigzagging out of harm’s way with ease. Where Hazel is slow and powerful, Five is nifty and quick, and his knife meets flesh on more than one occasion, much to Hazel’s visual and verbal displeasure.

The gunfire flaring momentarily distracts them all, and around Hazel’s heaving frame Five is given the perfect viewpoint to see Allison slam the acceleration of Diego’s car and drive directly at the idiotic goons who have provided the perfect target for her, grouped together like pinballs in a bowling alley. 

They go flying and crunching, either landing in a mess of limbs to one side or vanishing under the hood with a squelch. Not stopping for a moment, Allison drives around Hazel and Cha-Cha’s car and takes off down the road, the engine roaring loudly in their ears.

Dad takes this moment as his signal to move, nailing a series of shots in the general direction of the Commission goons. His random firing somehow hits his targets, and the masked men collapse to the ground, their groans muffled by their accessories.

Five turns his attention back to Hazel as he suddenly darts away from Five, catching Cha-Cha as she flops unconscious under Diego’s hand. Diego lunges, earning himself a swift kick to the stomach as Hazel drags Cha-Cha back towards their car, a new look of panic on his face. Five can see him calculating, re-analysing the scenario he has suddenly found himself alone in, eyes trailing from Five to Diego, and then down to Dad who is running up to join them.

It is only when Hazel flings open the car door and grabs something that Five realises what he is doing.

“No!” He shouts, jumping to try and grab him before it is too late.

His reaching fingers catch nothing but air, and Hazel and Cha-Cha vanish is a whirl of electric blue, making Diego flinch back and raise a blade uselessly.

“ _Shit_.”

Diego blinks at the now empty spot, and then glances around. “What happened?”

“A briefcase.” Five sighs, absently wiping a bloodied hand on his shorts. “Hazel suddenly realised how outnumbered he was and ran.”

“Five!” Dad runs up to him, panting hard. “Are you ok? How’s your side?” His eyes trail down to what Five is holding, blanking visibly. “Wait, Diego did you give my son a _knife?”_

“Maybe.”

“It’s a Birthday-Christmas-Halloween present.” Five states with a small smirk.

“That doesn’t make it better!” Dad complains, as if he does not have a gun flung over his shoulder or the knowledge that Five used an everyday butter knife at Griddy’s to kill several men. He gapes at Diego. “Please don’t give my son a knife. I don’t want him with a knife!”

Diego scoffs, wandering over to the side of the road to examine the men Dad shot at. A quick knife to the throat ends the last wheezing one, the other two apparently having bled out. Not the most officiant kills, Five notes, but they did what they needed to do.

“He’s fifty-eight, Klaus, he’s not a baby, and I thought he did pretty well with it.”

Five tuts. “One compliment won’t make up for a lifetime’s absentness.”

Diego chucks a rock at him.

Rubbing at his face, Dad groans. “I hate this. I hate all of this. Stop teaching my son chaotic killing techniques. Also,” He holds up a finger, which Five recognises as a _switching topic because I don’t like it_ pose, one he used to avoid answering adult-based questions asked by an overly curious child, “We need to go meet Allison. She’s going to try to keep Jenkins and Vanya in the house until we get there, but she wasn’t sure how long she could hold them off before they try to throw her out or something.”

Diego is already moving towards Hazel and Cha-Cha’s car, opening the driver’s door and assessing what is in front of him. With a surprising amount of expertise, he pries open a compartment and starts messing with wires.

It takes them ten minutes in total to hotwire the car, and then an extra five when Diego suddenly insists that they hide all the bodies out of sight, in case any passers-by notice and decide to call the police.

“The longer it takes for anyone to find Jenkins’ body, the better it is for us. We don’t want to draw unwanted attention.” Diego reasons, and Five nods agreeably while Dad makes a face and then hugs him.

By the time they have navigated the winding woodland road up to the house, it is nearing dark. Diego’s car sits in the driveway, bullets lining the body and ruining the paintwork, and there is a light on in the building, just peeking through the semi-closed faded curtains.

Five lets Dad keep an arm on him to prevent him from simply jumping straight inside.

In hindsight, it is lucky he did.

“Allison!” Diego gasps, rushing in through the door and dropping his knives in the process.

Klaus and Five enter behind him, freezing on the spot as Diego huddles on the floor, scooping up a prone figure laying there. Pooling blood smothers Allison’s neck, smearing her throat like a terrible, tacky scarf glistening in the warm orange light. Her eyes are glazed, staring blankly at the world around her and not once reacting to Diego’s touch.

“Fuck.” Dad breathes, and Five is inclined to agree.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Klaus: What do you have there?
> 
> Five: A knife!
> 
> Klaus: No!
> 
> [Tumblr](https://ancientstone.tumblr.com/)


	34. 31st March 2019

****

**31st March 2019**

Grace, his Dad’s robotic mother and the woman who was in the basement when Five was snatched away, insists that Allison will survive, but is a lot less confident about her voice.

“Only time will tell.” She informs them sadly, her perfect hair hanging in golden curls around her face.

There is a strange stitched scar running up Grace’s arm, one that Five does not remember being there before. Then again, he did not pay much attention to his not-quite-Grandmother’s arms the first time they met, and he was unconscious for the second, so perhaps it was.

Luther refuses to move from the infirmary, and Pogo the magical talking chimp goes scuttling off as quickly as possible, leaving just Diego, Dad, Uncle Ben and Five in the living room.

Five has never met Pogo before. When he was little, he used to believe that Dad shoved in the part about the English-speaking animal to make his experiences at the Academy sound less horrific and child friendly. Five knew there was a degree of censorship going on, especially once he was old enough to pick up on the nervous ticks whenever he asked for a story, but the presence of monkey butlers felt too far out of reality to be truth.

It is not the first time Five has been wrong about something.

In her book, Vanya mentioned Pogo rarely, keeping his species firmly under wraps and leaving the ape on more neutral ground between Grace and Reginald. This makes it hard for Five to have any strong pre-developed opinions, though he now has enough practice in human observation to make a few small notes. 

The creature seems kindly, talking in a mellow, wise voice the same way Five’s history teacher used to. It is the type of tone that commanded attention without much effort, and Five can easily imagine it helping to keep an authoritative command over six energetic children.

Then again, that authoritative command was also an aid to Reginald’s schemes, and no amounts of mild protest will take away the fact that he lent a hand to the horrors his father suffered.

Dad makes his opinions perfectly clear, glaring at the fully clothed primate until he disappears out the door while keeping a hand on Five’s shoulder.

If there is more of a history between them than he realises, then Five’s opinion only continues to sour towards Pogo. Perhaps something else happened after he was sent to the apocalypse.

“Do we have any idea where they could’ve gone?” Diego asks, pacing back and forth on the ornate rug. Dad and Five sit on one of the couches in the living room, Five slowly chewing his way through a peanut butter and marshmallow sandwich Dad insisted he eat.

Swallowing heavily, the sweetness sticking to the roof of his mouth, Five says, “There’s only Jenkins’ address. Apart from that, we’re clutching at straws.”

“What about Vanya?” Dad rubs at his eyes in thought. “Will she still be with him?”

For some reason he and Diego glance at Five for that, who blinks back in bewilderment. “I’ve met her once. You’ll know more than me here.”

Diego shrugs, looking helpless. “If she got away from him, she might be trying to get back here. Luther’s about, and Mom and Pogo, so if she arrives, they can deal with her. I think…” He pauses, his face drifting off in deep contemplation, the moment drags out for a painfully long minute. 

At the point where the pause seems uninterested to stop, Five tosses his empty plate onto the table and stands abruptly.

“Well, why you _think_ , the apocalypse gets closer. It’s _tomorrow_ , in case you didn’t realise. We don’t have time to wait around. Let’s go to Jenkins’ house.” He decides firmly. “It makes the most sense. If he believes he’s on the run, he’s going to go home first to try and get his things, clothes, money, passports, whatever. If we can corner him there or cut him off, then we can-”

Dad gets to him feet and tugs Five close, speaking over him. “Ok, that sounds like a plan.”

 

Harold Jenkins is dead.

There is no conceivable way he cannot be, with all those knives sticking out of him.

“Christ of a cracker.” Dad breathes, and then moves to shield the view from Five, who splutters as he is dragged into the warm chest face first.

“ _Dad_ -”

“I’m still your father and you’ll do as I say, and I don’t want you seeing _that_.”

Five wiggles under the hands clinging to him. “But-”

“Don’t care.” Dad snips, in a tone that is as amused as it is sad. “I’ve had enough of all this blood and gore, and I don’t want you seeing any more than you have to. Uncle Ben agrees with me.”

“Not to interrupt what looks like a moment here,” Diego pipes up from somewhere, not that Five can _see_ , “But do we wanna check the eye thing, just to be sure?”

Digging the glass eyeball out of his pocket, Five shoves it in the general direction of Diego. Leather gloves take it, and with a small sigh Five returns Dad’s hold with a hug. Making a pleased, slightly surprised noise, Dad holds him closer, gentler, running fingers through Five’s hair as a weird squelching noise comes from the general direction of the body.

“We have a match, little dude.” Diego reports. 

Five bristles. “Call me _little dude_ again and _you’ll_ need a glass eye.”

Dad tuts lightly, petting him like a riled cat. “Don’t bully your Uncle Diego.”

“He hasn’t earned that title yet.” Five informs Dad’s chest, before shifting to tug at his father’s arms, trying to pry them away. “I want to look.”

“Five-”

“Considering that I’ve been carrying that eye for decades, and it's _literally_ been my only hope at identifying who starts the apocalypse, I’d like to look please.”

There is a pause, one that speaks of a silent conversation taking place over Five’s buried head. He hears Dad squeak, and Diego huff, but eventually the arms fall away. Dad still wraps them around his shoulders like pythons, though, unwilling to fully let go.

Frowning deeply, Five stares at the corpse. The eyes are slightly skewed into different directions, giving it a strange, almost inhuman appearance. The pupils, same colour, same size, gaze up at the ceiling, the real one hazed over with the familiar sheen on death.

The glass eye fits in perfectly with the body, tailor made for the cadaver it now rests in.

“Huh.” Five says simply, neither a sense of satisfaction nor an anticlimactic disappointment filling him. Instead, here is just a numbness, and empty feeling of acknowledgement that means little and achieves nothing.

He blinks down at the achievement of his lifetime-long goal, his hands fisting and stretching out slowly at his side.  
Dad shakes his shoulders a little. “You ok?”

Five’s scowl deepens. “I…I don’t get it.”

“Get what?”

“This man, Harold Jenkins, he was the cause of the apocalypse, right? The person whose eye Luther stole as you all tried to stop him?”

Diego glances from the corpse to Five and then back again. “Yeah?”

“Then who _killed_ him?” He throws his arms out in sheer confusion, his face pinched with an unpleasant mixture of lost and frustrated. “The Commission was defending him yesterday, what changed? Why is he dead?”

“Dunno.” Diego hums. “But whoever killed him clearly did so with a vengeance.”

Giving him a tentative look, Dad’s fingers run up and down his arm. “Do you think that’s it? The apocalypse is over?”

“I…” Gulping away the strange dry unpleasantness in his throat, Five stuffs his hands inside the blazer pockets, squeezing them hard. “Whoever causes the apocalypse, Luther grabs their eye, which I then found and brought back with me. _This_ eye. This eye, that we know was going to be given to Harold Jenkins, who is now dead.”

“You ok, Hawaii Five-O?” Dad asks gently.

Five does not so much as blink at the nickname, though Diego snorts. “It has to be, right? It _must_ be over, if the mark is dead.”

“We’ll, that’s great, isn’t it?” Dad turns to Diego for reassurance, who makes a ‘so-so’ gesture with his head before nodding with a shaky air of confidence. “It’s over! We should be celebrating! What about lunch, hey? I could make you something, Five, and Diego too if you-”

“I’ll drop you off at the Academy.” Diego interrupts, “I’ve got some unfinished business with those clowns. You, uh, want the eye back, Five?”

“Absolutely not!” Dad yelps, dragging Five back as if the eye will jump up and bite him. “That’s where I _really_ draw the line, and your Uncle Ben actually does agree with me this time!”

 

Vanya is not at the Academy when they get back, but neither Dad nor Diego seem that worried about it so neither is Five. Allison is still unconscious, when they check, but Luther insists that she seems to be getting stronger.

After that Diego vanishes off to his room, because, apparently, he needs even more knives to go head-to-head with Hazel and Cha-Cha. Meanwhile, Dad steers Five back into the living room, humming a light tune.

“You sit down.” He instructs, pushing Five onto the plush cushions of a couch. “I’ll go make some food for us. What about pancakes? I think we’ve got some fruit somewhere. I think Mom might’ve gone shopping. How the side, by the way, are the stitches-”

Five waves him off. “I’m fine, Dad, honestly, and thanks, pancakes sound great.”

Dad beams at him, bright and loving and safe, and then turns on his heel in the direction of the kitchen. Five watches him go, briefly wondering if Uncle Ben has stuck with him or gone to talk gossip with Dad.

“If you’re here, Uncle Ben,” Five whispers under his breath, “Then don’t panic, I’ll be back.” He stands, before adding quickly, “And don’t tell Dad.”

With that, Five jumps.

He knows exactly where he is going. Having navigated the apocalypse for years, Five became well-acquainted with the layout of the city, as haphazard and wrecked as it was. It helped that he and Dad always bused or walked to school, giving him a mental map of certain areas that could withstand broken buildings and rubble.

Grimbel Brother’s was one of the stores that they visited often during Five’s childhood, searching through the bargain bin for cheap clothes that would last longer than a few weeks. The colour choices were not always the best, and sometimes Five had to put up with truly atrocious specimens of fashion in favour of staying warm in the cooling apartment, but they were better than other places, and always within Dad’s tight budget.

Five was made to pace up and down the shoe aisles so many times he practically knows all the dips and bumps of the floor, feeling familiar underfoot as he quietly enters the store, unseen by the fairly light afternoon crowd. Dad always made sure they tested new shoes to the ninth degree, watching critically as Five trudged about to check for rubbing or any other symptom of a bad fit.

Shoes had to last for them. The longer they could go without spending needless money, the better.

Often, Five had to do the same critical judging for his Dad. He distinctly remembers sitting on one of the stools, kicking his feet as Dad tried out a new pair of work shoes, asking Five to watch how the material moved against his ankle. Uncle Ben was better at judging than him.

All thoughts of shoes leave his mind when he spots her, freezing to the spot among the jeans and the coats.

“Dolores.”

She looks better than the last time they saw one another, dirtied from apocalypse ash and Dolores wearing a jacket neither of them liked but was the only thing available in her size. Now, she is dressed a lovely striped top with a pencil skirt, deep brown hair gently framing her face and skin cleaned of any marks and bruises.

“Hi.” He starts weakly, swallowing down the lump in his throat. “I’ve missed you.”

She is confused, he knows she is. When they were last together, he was sporting a beard and wild eyes, run ragged from forty-five years in the apocalypse. In comparison, Five’s new body is baby-faced, clothed his father’s uniform and with his hair neatly combed to one side, ruffled only from Dad’s seeking fingers.

Dolores does not know about The Commission, or what he became there. She does not know about Harold Jenkins and his knife-splattered body back at his house. She does not know about Griddy’s, and Five’s less than stellar actions there in front of his family.

She only knows that Five is here, and he is different.

“It’s been a while.” He tells her. “Lots happened, after I left with The Handler. That’s her name, by the way.”

Dolores is unimpressed.

Five huffs, humoured. “I know, but I can’t exactly speak for good names, can I?”

He named Dolores.

“No, I didn’t. You named yourself, I just listened.”

She likes that about him. Five tries not to turn gushy and awkward in the middle of the store.

“I, um, I wanted to come and say hello. I’ve been back for a few days now, but things got hectic and Dad was there and…” Five trails off, his smile dipping to something sad. Dolores encourages him gently. “Dad was hurt. I don’t think he _stopped_ hurting after Reginald sent me away, but he was hurt. Bad. By people to do with me. I…I was useless, I couldn’t do anything to help him.”

She is sure that is not true. She knows him, and she knows he would stop at nothing to protect his family. Five does not tell her about his injury, or how he reopened it when he failed to listen to his father. There is already a terrible taste in his mouth, and he does not want her disappointment piled on top of it.

So, he changes the subject, and asks her about her friends. She always mentioned them, the ladies who kept her company on their stands, and the workers who brought new outfits to match the season. They all get pointed out in turn, and Five ducks bashful when she introduces him as her partner of over thirty years to the smartly dressed and smiling companion beside her.

When Five leaves, it is with a promise to visit again as soon as he can. Dolores requests that he brings his Dad with him next time, and Uncle Ben by proxy, and Five grumbles his way through excuses and not-quite-answers until she chuckles and sends him on his way. 

He can hear her immediately start gossiping with her friends as he walks out the store, and as the cooling evening air strikes him, Five cannot help but feel strangely embarrassed at the thought of them gushing over him.

The feeling sticks with him as he makes the several jumps back to his Dad, but the chilly wind helps cool his cheeks a little. Dad is going to be mad, Five knows, because he only intended to be twenty minutes, perhaps half-an-hour at most, yet afternoon has clearly given way and now stars are starting to poke through the sky above.

Five hurries along.

 

When he returns to the Academy, he finds it is in ruins.

“Five!” Dad’s high-pitched yell comes tumbling over the rubble, and moments later arms fling around Five, squeezing him unbelievably tight. His Dad smells of smoke. “Where the hell were you? I was so scared! Ben said-”

“What happened?” Five wheezes, and not because of the way Dad’s clinging to him.

Allison, Luther, and Diego are all standing around the destruction, staring wide-eyed at the remains of what was once their home. Diego is knelt on the floor, his face screwed up and his hands fisted, and Luther is supporting a pale-looking Allison as they gape at one another, too shocked for words.

Echoes of another time dance across Five’s eyes, the way the mortar sits, how the gates bend and swing uselessly, and in an electric blue flash he jumps and finds himself a newspaper. 

He knows where to find one, after all, and the screech of protesting metal as he opens the small door rings the same as it did the last time Five was here, seeking the news with shivering fingers as the world crackled in his ears.

Blank words stare up at him on smudged paper, uncaring to the doomsday bell they toll in Five’s mind. 

For a moment, he gapes, mouth stuttering before managing to spill out an eloquent, “ _Fuck_.”

An elderly woman turns her nose up at him as she totters down the sidewalk, and Five cannot bring himself to care.

Dad is halfway through an aneurysm when he jumps back, making a strangled, crying sound when he spots Five and grabbing at the blazer with shaking fingers. Squeezing his eyes shut, Dad pressing their foreheads together.

“Stop vanishing,” He pleads, and etched into the dirt smearing over his face are clean cut lines of tears, “Please stop vanishing.”

“Dad…” Pulling himself free from the desperate hold, Five gazes at each of his extended family in turn, and then at the destruction around them. The newspaper feels like lead in his hands. When he speaks again, it is with a strength Five does not feel. “The apocalypse is still on. The world ends _tonight_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end is coming quicker than you think...
> 
>  
> 
> [Tumblr](https://ancientstone.tumblr.com/)


	35. 31st March 2019

****

**31st March 2019**

Klaus is concerned.

Opposite him, Luther and Allison listen to Five intently, their eyes naturally following his son as he paces up and down the squeaky bowling alley floor. The familiarly haunting words of death and destruction sour the air, and from his place behind Luther, Ben sends him a pinched look that speaks of unsaid worries. It’s the same look he used to have when Five had issues at school, or when Klaus caught the flu and had to take time off work.

Klaus is concerned.

Sat next to him, Diego’s knee is bouncing rapidly, pent-up energy manifesting into the impatient habit as he bluntly fills in any gaps he believes Five’s skimming over. Each time he butts in Five sends a scowl his way, but the panic behind the disgruntled features is obvious enough for anyone to spot, not just his father.

Klaus is concerned, because the end of the world is coming, it’ll be sparked by his quiet, unassuming sister, and neither he nor Five have any idea how to stop it.

“I don’t…I can’t…” Luther breathes, the disbelief in his voice not from disregarding the connected dots, but from the sheer shock of the revelation. “Tonight? You’re sure it’s tonight?”

“Yes, I’m sure!” Five snaps, not once pausing in his stride back and forth. “I’ve spent most of my life trying to stop the apocalypse, there’s no way I’d-”

Klaus catches him as he passes again, standing and holding both of Five’s shoulders. He waits until Five looks up at him before soothing, “Breathe, buddy. Don’t let your brain work itself up. Think, we need to come up with a plan.”

Something behind Five’s solid walls crumbles and swallowing weakly, Five glances away. He looks pale, Klaus realises, buried beneath the hardened exterior, and painfully, terribly young. Without a word he brings Five in for a hug, resting his cheek against the wild, greasy hair.

Quietly, he wonders when the last time Five was able to wash. He doubts it was this week.

Biting his lip, Klaus switches his gaze to his siblings, who littler the fun, cheerful space with as much joy as a child with a popped balloon. Klaus would know, there were many tears and tantrums over the years due to deflated friends.

Allison has gone three shades pale, though that could, on reflection, be due to the blood loss recently suffered. She seems shaky and going by the brief glances everyone keeps sending her Klaus isn’t the first one to notice. However, she has yet to go keeling over, and Allison is a tough cookie when she wants to be, so Klaus decides to keep any comments to himself.

On a different note, her eyes appear glassy, dampened with unshed tears as her fingers squeeze impossibly tight on the pen in her hand.

The realisation hits Klaus in the chest.

Oh _shit_.

Claire.

They just told her that the end of the world is tonight. There’s no way Allison would ever make it back to her daughter in time to say goodbye, should it come to that. Klaus might have Five here, but Claire is all the way in Los Angeles, so far out of arm’s reach she couldn’t even _hope_ for a hug.

Luther seems to realise this as well, because he hesitantly reaches over and puts his hand on her shoulder. Allison doesn’t shrug it away, but she accepts it with a cold indifference.

Wilting, Luther takes back his hand, and instead picks up the newspaper Five produced, opening its pages as if staring into a pandora’s box. An advertisement for a new type of gardening hose stares back.

Sighing, Five pulls away from Klaus’ safe embrace, rubbing his fingertips against his forehead. Ben silently slides up to stand next to him, watching his nephew attentively.

“We need to find Vanya.” Five starts. “If she’s-”

“No shit.” Diego cuts in, ignoring the pointed glares from Five, Allison, Klaus, and, unknowingly, Ben, “But she could be anywhere in the city. There’s no way we could-”

“Or she could be here.” Luther suggests, holding up the paper. Five is at his side instantly, jumping to lean over Luther’s large shoulder and making Klaus’ oversized brother startle.

“She has a concert?”

“Oh yeah, I remember that being mentioned.” Diego offers.

Five is practically buzzing. “Then we need to go there.”

_AND DO WHAT?_ Allison jots down on her notepad.

There’s a brief hesitation in Five’s eyes, his gaze flickering briefly to Klaus and then away, absently turning towards another child’s thirteenth birthday party happening a few alleys down from them.

Klaus tries not to focus on it too much.

Five says, cool and quiet, “Whatever it takes.”

“What?” Luther’s head swivels around to gape at him.

“Hey, hey, wait a second, that’s your _aunt_ , my _sister_ you’re talking about.” Diego growls, his jaw stiffening as he stands, sending Klaus a look that seems to judge every parenting choice Klaus has ever made. “I’m not going to let you-”

“If we allow the end of the world to happen tonight then _billions_ of people will die. Us, the city, Claire,” Five gestures towards Allison, who blinks rapidly and thins her lips. “I’m not saying we go with the incentive to kill Vanya, but if we have to balance one life against the rest of the world…”

Everyone stares at one another, and Klaus runs a hand through his hair, squeezing his eyes shut.

Fuck.

Shit.

Why and when the hell did this become his life?

Well, he knows when, doesn’t he? When that bastard of a father decided to snatch his baby away. If it wasn’t for him, then Klaus would be in his apartment right now, having dinner with Five and listening to him babble about his school day. Perhaps Vanya would’ve told him about her concert, she seemed to want them all to know, and maybe they would have begun to talk again. It would’ve been nice for his siblings to know Five, before all of _this_.

Who the fuck knows what could’ve happened. Certainly not Klaus, because of Reginald and his idiotic Academy.

Then again, if it wasn’t for Reginald, Klaus would have never been in that horrific household, and he wouldn’t have turned to drugs, and he wouldn’t have snuck out for the evening and ended up with Five, the best goddamn thing in his entire world.

“Dad, get down!”

Hands grabbing him force Klaus to the floor, and seconds later Diego, Luther, and Allison are flinging themselves alongside him and Five as bullets go skimming over the tops of the plastic chairs, embedding in the floor barely inches away. The kid’s party gets cut short by screaming.

“Who the fuck are these guys?” Diego yells, army crawling to a better position. 

Five hurries Klaus after him, his hand almost unbearably tight on his arm.

Peering around the edge of a random counter, Klaus takes one look at the red masks and leather uniforms straight out of a BDSM fantasy and blanks.

“Maybe they’re here for the birthday?” He says to Five, who goes from seething to blinking at Klaus and snorting with amusement.

“Pretty sure they’re here for us.” Luther states from somewhere. “We need to get out of here, the concert will be starting soon!”

“How?” Diego shouts back, his knives shooting out in various targeted directions. “They’re blocking the only exist!”  
Klaus feels Five shift his stance and immediately grabs him. “Don’t you even think about it.”

“Da-”

“ _No_.”

“The lanes!” Luther calls, pointing down the bowling lanes. “Come on!”

Grabbing Five’s wrist with enough force to ensure he’s going to be staying _exactly where Klaus wants him_ , Klaus pushes off the ground and goes running after his siblings. Gun fire ricochets off the poorly decorated walls, the polished floor bursting with bullets and only missing their bodies by a mere hair’s width. Ben is running beside them, watching the shooters more than where he’s going and phasing straight through the wall without even a flinch.

Dragging Five in front of him, Klaus sends his son sprawling gracelessly through the tight space first, skidding along behind in a slightly unseemly mess of limbs and bowling pins. Together, they manage to knock every one of them down.

Klaus decides not to mention it as they race out the building towards the nearest car for Diego to hot-wire.

It’s not until they are all sat and panting in the old vehicle, Diego at the wheel, Allison riding shotgun and Luther, Klaus, and Five wedged into the back that Klaus actually turns and looks at Five, checking him over. Ben perches in his usual position on the floor in the middle, facing Five and looking deeply unsettled by the whole ordeal. Klaus notes that he’s rubbing at his chest and breathing deeply.

“You ok?” He asks Five.

“Yeah.” Five nods. His eyes run over Klaus. “You?”

“Not a scratch.”

“Good.”

Leaning back against the seat, Klaus slings an arm around Five’s shoulders, drawing him close and simply holding his son against his side. He doesn’t miss Allison’s quick peek in the rear-view mirror.

The car continues down the road towards the concert, towards _Vanya_.

Klaus swallows.

Vanya, his sweet-as-sugar, whisper of a sister. 

While she’s undoubtedly grown more of a backbone since he last saw her, probably coinciding with that stupid book of hers being published, it’s hard not to picture her as their lonely extra sibling haunting the mansion as quiet as a mouse. She was always there, waiting in the dark corners of the room as Mom patched them up after missions or stood alongside Reginald during training. Klaus can vividly remember the sympathy in her eyes on the bad days, and the soft hands that would latch onto his blazer sleeves after a particularly bad excursion.

The same blazer that Five’s wearing now.

Five, who is prepared to kill her if necessary.

Klaus works his jaw, biting on his tongue. The images of Vanya practicing her violin in her nook of a bedroom filter through his mind. He can recall in crisp detail how she would practice the same tunes over and over again, starting out scratchy and nervous and slowly growing in confidence and sound.

She cracked a particularly hard piece, once, and beamed at Klaus with such a wide, excited smile.

After a few minutes, Allison starts to write in her notepad, starting up a one-sided conversation with Luther, who leans forward to peer over her seat so he can see better. Diego switches on the car’s staticky radio, tuning it in to a local news channel Klaus doesn’t care about. The speakers are louder in the front than they are in the back.

Ben watches his siblings, and then studies Five. His face is stern, the expression he always wears when delving deep into his mind to contemplate something and attempt to unravel it. As Ben tilts his eyes towards him, his face turns grim.

They are thinking the same thing. After so many years together, Klaus has mastered unpicking his brother’s thoughts.

Dipping his head down so it’s pressed against the side of Five’s head, Klaus says quietly, “Five, I need you to promise me something.”

Five blinks at him, dark circles under his eyes and his hands fisted on his lap. A small frown bends his brow, a line of uncertainty wrinkling across the smooth skin of youth, but he nods, leaning closer against Klaus’ side so they can keep the conversation hushed and between them only.

“Promise me that you’ll do everything you can to save Vanya. I know where your coming from, I promise I do, but…” He sighs, tiredly, dejectedly, “But she’s still my sister, and I don’t want anything to happen to her.”

Hanging his head, Five stares hard at the floor of the car, not realising he’s glaring directly at Ben. Klaus can see the gears moving, chugging away in that genius brain his son will always have, cogs turning and spinning and clanking.

“I…I’ll do my best.” Swallowing, Five’s tone as a slight wobble to it, which he quickly buries away to add, “But I have to save the world, Dad. I can’t let it die, after all this time, I can’t-”

“I know.” Wrapping his arms around Five, he holds him as close as the seatbelts allow. “I know, Five, I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Buckle up, folks, the end is nigh
> 
> [Tumblr](https://ancientstone.tumblr.com/)


	36. 31st March 2019

****

**31st March 2019**

“Yeah,” Luther nods at Allison, “Ok, you go.”

“What?” Five growls, already halfway up the stairs. He glares daggers at Luther as Allison takes off, her heels be damned, and vanishes into the room of the concert. “Luther, we don’t-”

Diego makes a tutting sound, patting Five on the head and nearly getting slapped because of it. Klaus silently drags Five back against him and out of arm’s reach, keeping his hands on Five’s arms. 

Rolling his eyes, Ben mutters something too low to hear under his breath.

“Calm down.” Diego says, adjusting the knives on his harness, “We’re using her as a distraction.”

Luther nods in confirmation, trying to look appeasing at Five. “Diego’s right. We’ll all move at once. If one of us can get to her, we can-” 

He’s abruptly cut off by rounds of blaring gunshots, startling all of them as screaming, high and startled and panicked, slices through the tune of the orchestra. Klaus instinctively brings Five closer until his son’s back is pressed against his chest, and Ben steps up beside them silently.

Five bristles under Klaus’ touch. “Shit.”

Not a second later the same doors Allison disappeared through fling open hard enough to bounce off the walls, spilling out a scrambling, flailing audience as if the barriers holding back a flood. Diego yelps, jumping to one side to avoid being flattened in the rush, while Klaus drags Five against the wall, using his arm to shield them from being ploughed into.

Luther stands in the centre of a corridor, a lone, unmoving boulder against the rushing force. “Everyone, make your way towards the exists!” He commands loudly, trying to be heard as a voice of authority over the shrieking fear. “Watch your step! Please be careful of others!”

Five grabs onto Klaus’ hand, tugging them along the wall. “Dad, come on!”

“Do you think it’s The Commission?”

Nodding, Five squeezes them through the doors, ducking to dodge a wayward elbow from a burly man in a tuxedo. Klaus holds his hands protectively around Five’s head, hovering over him the very same way he used to when Five was learning to walk unaided, ready to catch in case he fell.

Pushing through the crowd, they enter the expansive space beyond.

Both he and Ben have been to a theatre exactly once in their lives, and it didn’t look anything close to this.

This is mainly due to the fact that the one they visited was mostly rubble, courtesy of a lovely little homemade bomb The Umbrella Academy failed to notice until only ten seconds were left on the counter. There had been no hope in stopping it, they wouldn’t even have been able to remove the metal plating covering the wiring inside before it exploded, so all they could do was yell for everyone to get out and hope none of them were caught in the blast.

No one was seriously hurt, lucky or there would’ve been serious consequences for each of them back at the Academy, but it left the quaint local theatre in such a state of disrepair that Klaus doubts it was ever used again.

The Icarus Theatre very different to that well-loved place. Unlike there, where there were hard-plastic chairs leaning against the wall and easy to clean flooring, this one has lush velvet seats and expensive carpets, and balcony viewpoints for those with deep enough wallets for such a thing.

Which is, incidentally, where some of the shooters are aiming from.

They clock Five and Klaus instantly, the barrels of their gun swivelling around from where they have Allison pinned. His breath hitching, Klaus shoves Five behind the seats, bullets thudding with a serious intensity into the soft padding. White stuffing bursts into the air, littering Five’s dark hair and spraying dust like violent spores, catching the back of Klaus’ throat and making him cough.

Crouching down onto his stomach, Klaus carefully peers around the end of the row towards Allison.

“You ok over there?” He shouts, but Allison pays him not a lick of attention. Instead, her eyes are trailed solely on the stage, wide and sad and hurting. Shifting, Klaus follows her gaze.

“Holy shit…” Five breathes, peeking between the seats, and Ben echoes his sentiment.

Stood centre stage, like a brilliant beacon in a terrible storm, is Vanya, her arm dipping and diving as she continues to play her bone white violin, the music of the orchestra swelling inside the confines of the theatre. The other musicians have long gone, their chairs and music stands scattered behind her, but Vanya doesn’t seem to care, pulsing pure energy into the air as her once black suit slowly morphs into the same, stark white.

The raw energy emitting from his sibling is overwhelming, almost like thick smoke coating the room and hitting deep and hard in the centre of his chest. Jutting out from her as if roots breaking through the ground, deep cracks mar the floor and walls, snaking up to the ceiling to release powder and rubble. The earth beneath them seems to shudder, and Five makes a strained, alarmed noise.

“Guys!” Appearing in the doorway, Luther and Diego visibly blank at the scene before them, only getting a split second to process the situation before being forced to flee from the bullets, ducking down out of range.

“What the fuck?” Diego shouts intelligently as he ungracefully belly-flops onto the floor. Klaus winces in sympathy.

Five kneels up, gesturing at the guys in masks. “Commission.” He then points to Vanya. “Apocalypse. We gotta stop her before she ends this song. She’s _literally_ going to bring everything down with her.”

Rapid thudding of a fist against the back of a seat makes them all turn, and Allison makes a violent hand swinging gesture around her shoulder.

Diego stares at her, uncomprehending. “What?”

“The violin!” Luther and Five exclaim at once, Five pressing to add, glancing towards Vanya with sharp, intelligent eyes, “It’s…It’s her lightning rod! If we could get it away from her, she’ll have nothing to channel her power!”

Klaus blinks at him. “How’re we meant to do that?”

Dipping out the way of more bullets, Five grits his teeth. “First we need to deal with these idiots.”

With that, he’s gone with a flash of blue. 

Somewhere behind them, unnoticed by everyone, the clock on the wall ticks to one minute passed twelve.

****

**1st April 2019**

Diego’s knives go singing through the air, cutting down two masked men by the door and another running up the aisle with complete ease. Meanwhile Allison knocks one to the ground, snatching up their gun and smacking them around the back of the head with a thump loud enough for Klaus to hear as he huddles. Not too far away, Luther sends one poor bugger flying spectacularly across the room, hitting the wall with a sickening crack.

Up on the balconies there is a flurry of wild movement and muffled shouting, and the few Commission agents Klaus can see from this angle spin to deal with a sudden threat they weren’t expecting.

_Five_.

Realisation that his baby’s up there hits Klaus hard. “Oh God, what’s he-”

“Klaus!” Ben cuts through the rising panic, knelt at his side and with his brows knitting together with urgency. He used to have the same expression when they were kids on missions. “Calm down, we need to do something!”

Watching as Luther sends another guy through the air, Klaus gulps. “What?”

“Manifest me!”

“What?” He repeats, a whole lot squeakier and glancing towards the Commission agents. “But I’m-”

“You’ve been sober for ages now,” Ben presses, his face earnest and pale in Vanya’s bright light, “You can do it!”

“But-”

“Just fucking do it!” Ben snaps, finally losing whatever frayed patience he has left. He stands expectantly, looming over Klaus, his jaw set and, very oddly, reminiscent of Five when he was being stubborn over vegetables or the amount of TV time he had.

Klaus stumbles to his feet, shooting what he hopes is a very sceptical look towards his more hopeful brother before fisting his hands and squeezing his eyes shut. When he feels for the familiar pull of energy from within his stomach, weak but there, he latches onto it, letting it rise up through his veins and into his fingers, his face scrunching with effort.

It’s stuttering, like trying to talk after weeks of having a bad throat, and Klaus doesn’t need to be an expert to know how shaky his hold over it is. Ever so slowly his hands start to glow, the outline of Ben begins to shine, and just like that Ben’s there, standing in the same room as the rest of his siblings and completely visible.

“Oh my God…” Luther says from somewhere, Klaus doesn’t look. “It’s Ben!”

Five pops in beside him. There’s crimson on his shirt collar. “Uncle Ben!”

The smile on Ben’s face could light the room even brighter than Vanya. “Hi, Five.”

“Hate to break this _very_ touching moment,” Klaus grits, feeling his body start to shiver, “But could you get on with it?”

Stepping back, Ben lifts his shirt up and gets straight to work, whacking and tossing and ripping Commission goons left, right, and centre like there’s no tomorrow. The gristly scene hasn’t changed an inch since the last time Klaus saw it as a kid, and with a jolt he realises that Five has never seen his uncle in action before, but there’s not much he can do to censor it now.

In total, it takes barely a minute to clear the room, a good thing considering Klaus can’t hold on any longer. Five blinks when Ben disappears, but he’s still smiling.

“That was cool!” He grins. “ _Please_ tell me you would’ve shown me that at some point growing up, because if you weren’t, I’m going to travel back in time just so six-year-old me can throw the _biggest_ tantrum.”

Spluttering an unexpected but welcome laugh, Klaus bends over and rests his hands on his knees, panting heavily. Five describing something as _cool_ was reserved for exactly three things when he was a child, that being space, sparkler birthday candles, and a superhero on a cartoon he saw when he was four.

A look of complete joy on his face, Ben chuckles fondly, hiding it behind his hand and trying to turn it into a cough when Klaus raises an eyebrow at him.

Lumbering up to them, Luther gapes at Klaus, Allison joining him by his side. “Was that-”

“Uncle Ben.” Five nods proudly, crossing his arms. “As Dad told you, constantly.”

Luther’s eyebrows twitch, probably noticing the fact that Ben’s the only one among them gifted with the title of ‘uncle’, but this goes unsaid as Klaus uncurls, sucking in through his nose and releasing it through his mouth.

“Where’s-”

“I’m gonna kill you!” Diego bellows the other side of the room, and Klaus, Five, and Ben twist around to the sight of Diego unleashing full fury against a very battered-looking Hazel and unsteady Cha-Cha.

“Yeah, they took aim at you while Ben was working.” Luther supplies. “Diego’s dealing with it.”

Klaus hums. “Should we…”

“I think he’s got it under control.” Five answers, observing closely. “Cha-Cha seems weaker than before. I think her knock to the head has put them at a disadvantage.”

“Right.”

“Never mind Diego,” Taking control of the momentary lapse of concentration, Luther reels them all back in. “What about Vanya?”

Allison starts frantically scribbling. Around them, the music swells louder, dust tumbling down from the ceiling. Cha-Cha grunts as she’s thrown against a wall.

_TALK TO HER!_ Allison writes.

“She won’t listen to us.” Five counters. “She’s too far gone. Look at her, there’s been guns going off for ages _and_ Uncle Ben’s powers, and she hasn’t so much as _flinched_.”

Sharing a glance with Ben, Klaus turns his attention to Vanya.

His sister stands exactly where he last saw her, her hair flowing as she produces wave after wave of pulsing music. It’s powerful enough that Klaus can practically see the soundwaves ripple through the air like water disturbed, each new note of the violin sending shockwaves against the slowly deteriorating interior of the building.

Five’s right. The chaos of the Commission attack has gone completely unnoticed by Vanya. He can hardly see her willing to drop everything to have a friendly chat and a cuddle.

The others see it too, it’s written all over their faces.

Five knows it. “We go with Luther’s original plan.” He pushes. “We take her lightning rod away. When the world’s no longer in danger, _then_ we talk.”

Allison shakes her head and starts to write again, but Luther puts his hand over hers, halting the penned words as Diego wanders up to them, panting and with a sheen of sweat on his brow. Glancing behind Diego as he rolls his shoulders, Klaus notes there’s a distinct lack of movement behind him.

“There’s no time, Allison.” Luther purses his lips, and then turns to the others. He gestures at himself, saying, “Stage left, Diego, you go stage right, Klaus and Five, you take the centre. We all go at once. Allison-” He cuts off at Allison’s frantic refusal, and Klaus doesn’t hear the rest of the exchange as Five grabs his hand and drags him forward through the seats, Diego vanishing off through a stage door.

“This is going to end terribly.” Ben comments at Klaus’ side, watching as Five leaves Klaus at one of the rows of seats to go stand at the other end. He gives Klaus a very pointed look. 

It’s not like Klaus doesn’t know. This is dangerous, it’s probably pretty stupid, and there’s no way his once quiet, unassuming sister isn’t going to retaliate with all her might, but there’s also too much at stake here.

Five spent forty-five years in the apocalypse because of this. Ignoring Reginald’s terrible part in the matter, _this_ is the reason why Five suffered for so long, was forced to grow up hurting and alone, lost in a desolate wasteland with the knowledge that he’d buried his own father.

What they’re doing is risky, but Klaus can’t let his son’s biggest fear come to fruition.

Ben continues, “We can all feel how powerful Vanya is, whoever gets there-”

“Then we’ll just have to make sure I get there before Five.” Klaus says, completely dedicated to his words and the weight behind them.

This is a dangerous, stupid idea, which is exactly why Klaus is going to do everything in his power to make sure he does it first. He has been acting as a human shield for Five since they first left the Academy, protecting his baby from the elements and danger around them. By now it’s basically second nature.

When Ben glances at him in surprise, he clicks his tongue, his hands fisting determined at his side. “The only way to stop the apocalypse is to stop this song, and the only way to stop this song is to take the violin away. She’s going to lash out, there’s no way she won’t, but all of us at once should be enough to at least distract her.”

“As long as it’s before Five?”

“As long as it’s before Five.” Klaus nods, and then Luther’s yells, his command rising over the frantic music, and not letting a second pass Klaus sprints forward, vaulting himself up onto the stage as Five jumps into existence a few paces back. He’s lost track of where Ben is.

It’s all going so well that it practically feels like slow motion. His hand is reaching out, barely an inch away from the neck of the instrument, and Five has the dawning realisation that his father’s going to get there before him, but then it all decides to turn horrifically south.

Klaus doesn’t really register how it happens, but suddenly he’s flying.

Possibly.

It’s hard to tell.

It’s very painful, though, whatever the hell is happening to him. A blinding white light penetrates into his eyeballs, as if he’s staring straight into several hundred LED lights. The beams sinks through his skull and into his brain, playing there as if it has any right to. Energy that’s not his own pulses within him, shaking every cell with a furious force. Distantly, he’s aware that the others are somewhere near him, but for the life of him Klaus can’t get his neck to turn around and look.

Fuck, where’s Five?

Within his chest Klaus’ heart hammers until it nears break the skin, and the cause is nothing to do with the unknown power manipulating his body. Blood thumps deep within his ears.

Five’s still recovering from his gunshot wounds, where the hell is he? Has he been he thrown back against the seats? Were his stitches snapped? Is he bleeding out? Is he alongside Klaus, suffering the same dizzying fate Klaus can’t make heads nor tails out of?

Then, there is a gunshot, and everything abruptly stops.

Klaus tumbles to the ground with as much grace as a frog hit with a tennis racket.

Groaning, he waves away the buzzing babbling of Ben as his brother materialises over his shoulder, incomprehensible words merging together as his vision decides to give him a nice trip of nauseating vertigo. Pushing himself up onto his elbows, Klaus blinks slowly, his mind gradually starting to catch up with reality again as the complete sound of silence fills the room.

He rolls over just in time to see the burst of white power go streaking through the roof, glass tinkling down from the oval window above.

“Dad?” Five croaks to his right, and Klaus sits up, his hand rising to massage the near migraine away.

Just out of arm’s reach, Five sits in a slight tangle of limbs. His skin is pale, and uncomfortably dark circles hang under his eyes giving him a strange, almost gaunt appearance, but apart from a small cut on his jawline, he seems relatively unharmed, all things considered.

Still, Klaus wouldn’t be a father if he didn’t clear his throat and scratchily ask, “You ok?”

“Yeah, you?”

“Had worse drug trips.”

Huffing, Five’s eyes shift from Klaus to the stage. Luther and Allison are huddled together, Luther with his arm wrapped tightly around Allison’s shoulders as she rocks back and forth. Diego is knelt nearby, breathing heavily and holding an unreadable expression on his face.

This is the point where Klaus’ mushed brain decides to remind him there was a gunshot.

“Oh shit…” He breathes, struggling unsteadily up to his feet. Five spatial jumps up onto the stage, offering a hand up to Klaus to take. Both their palms are sweaty, but Klaus doesn’t care. Together, they shift their attention towards Vanya, towards the way her hands rest limp over her stomach and how unresponsive she is to all the gentle handling.

“Is she?” Five asks carefully, and Luther glances up.

“No, she’s alive.”

Shoulders sagging, Five turns to Klaus, a relieved, near shy smile starting to tug up his lips. “See? Not dead.”

Laughing, from relief or joy or whatever the fuck else, Klaus swings his arms around Five, pulling his tightly against his chest. Five openly returns the hug, burying himself against Klaus’ clothes while his hands latch tightly onto his back. The way he holds his shoulders is the most relaxed Klaus has seen since returning, and he relishes in it, drinking in Five’s large, open smile. Ben beams at them, stuffing his hands into his pockets like a proud uncle and brother. Behind them, Diego makes an amused sound, which he totally tries to hide.

It’s as their hugging, their feet naturally making them spin around in an excited circle, that Klaus spots it.

Five notices when does, because he looks up in confusion at Klaus’ frozen face. “Dad?”

Klaus blinks twice. His mouth turns as dry as ash. “Does anyone else see the giant spinning rock coming straight towards us?”

Everyone follows his gaze.

There, tumbling through space and getting rapidly far too close for comfort, is a giant chunk of the moon. It’s gigantic, it’s grey, and it’s very clearing going to smack into Planet Earth in as much time as it takes to microwave a bag of popcorn.

Five stumbles backwards into Klaus, closing in on himself as if he’s suddenly trying to make his body as physically small as possible. “ _Shit_ …” 

Diego stands. “Is that-”

“Fuck! _Shit!”_

Diego moves up beside them, his face turning from the same look of horror they all wear to a strange, almost peaceful reflectiveness. He laughs with no humour. “Just look at that. The Umbrella Academy, a total _failure_.”

“Isn’t there something we can do?” Klaus asks frantically, glancing around at all of them, his hands grasping Five so tightly there’s no way it doesn’t hurt. “Could we-”

“That’s the moon, bro.” Diego shakes his head. “I don’t think throwing knives at it will help.”

“This can’t be the end.” Luther breathes, his voice shaking. “We can’t end like this!”

Five pulls away from them, stepping back and assessing them all.

“Come on, we’re the Umbrella Academy, right?” Klaus encourages desperately, even throwing Ben into the mix, staring at his deceased brother. “Come on, Ben, you’re smart, you were always reading-”

“That was fiction!”

“So? Wasn’t there anything-”

“I’ve got an idea!” Five shouts over him, a new glint shining in his eyes.

Diego frowns, “Right?”

“You’re going to have to trust me on this.” Five says, and immediately Diego turns wary.

“Fuck no-”

“Of _course_ we will.” Klaus speaks across Diego, reaching out and squeezing Five’s fingers, giving him his best encouraging look. “Tell us.”

Five meets his gaze, and there’s something in his face, something that puts Klaus on edge, that tells him this is dangerous, that he should be intervening here, but what it is he can’t quite put his finger on. 

His son has always been brilliantly intelligent. His little genius.

Five quickly explains, looking from Klaus to Allison and Luther, and then Diego, “We use my ability to time travel, only this time, I take you all with me.”

“You can do that?” Luther asks, already moving to stand and with a growing sense of hope.

“I don’t know.” For a split second, there’s fear on Five’s face, an uncertainty that speaks of the boy behind the mask, but just as quickly as it arrives it vanishes again, buried behind confidence. “But it’s our only shot.”

“Wait,” Klaus jumps in before this can be spun out of control, “Where would we go?”

Five answers instantly. “Far back enough to give you guys a chance to fix Vanya-”

“ _You guys?”_ Klaus repeats, bleak, gut-dropping emotions grabbing onto his heart and squeezing hard enough to make him feel sick. “No, no, Five we’re not going anywhere without you! Take us back five years or something, but not-”

“If we get her young then she has more of a chance to learn control!” Five argues back as Luther picks up their unconscious sister. “The later we leave it, the worse the fallout will be! She won’t suddenly accept all of your doting in her twenties, it’ll just seem fake and manipulative!”

_IF SHE HAS THE SAME CHILDHOOD THEN SHE’LL STILL HATE US, EVEN IF SHE KNOWS ABOUT POWERS_. Allison writes, but then follows it up with, _FIVE, BE SENSIBLE. TAKE US BACK TO WHEN YOU WERE A CHILD. WE’LL BE TEENAGERS THEN._

Five shakes his head vigorously. “That’s still not long enough to-”

“Guys, we’ve got about forty seconds.” Diego pipes up, eyeing the sky above them. “If we’re going to do this, do it now.”

“Five, listen to your Dad and Allison.” Luther instructs firmly, and Klaus feels his fingers shake against Five’s. “Go back to when you were about five or six, most of us were still living at home then, we could make a decent impact.”

“But-”

“Five!” Klaus finally snaps, because his son’s being stubborn, the moon’s about to re-enact the extinction of the dinosaurs, and they are rapidly running out of time. 

He’s not going to let his baby die.

“ _Listen_ to us.” He demands. “I’ve thought you were dead once; I’m not going to have you out of my life again. Take us back, but keep you there, understood?”

There’s a whole tapestry of emotions dancing in Five’s gaze, one that Klaus desperately wants to unpick, letting the secrets and whispers unravel so he can smooth out the wrinkles and set things right again. However, the grains of sand in their proverbial sand timer are down to the last ten, and it’s all Klaus can do to take Luther’s elbow as Allison and Diego ensure they’re all linked up.

As Five lets Diego hold onto him, he nods once. Unseen by all of them, Ben latches onto Klaus’ shoulder, his eyes fixed firmly onto Five.

“Do you promise?” Klaus pushes, needing the confirmation, desperately seeking it with everything in his soul. “Promise you won’t leave us, that’ll you still be there.”

“I promise.” Five’s says.

Tears come to his eyes, but don’t spill. “Thank you.”

Breathing deeply, Five stares upwards, and they all follow to gape at the electric blue that morphs into the air, twisting and protesting as Five verbally strains against what Klaus can only assume are the strands of time. The light it produces is sharp, cutting, and where Vanya’s was dazzling this is slicing, and if it was to take physical form Klaus is sure it could slash deep into the skin.

Five’s hand is cold in his where it had previously been warm, and as their palms press together Klaus can feel dried blood from the Commission goons and dust from the cracked ceiling.

The moon twirls closer, and if it wasn’t about to become very friendly with the world Klaus would almost describe it as beautiful.

“Klaus!” Ben shouts in his ear, and Klaus startles, shooting him a glance over his shoulder.

The sibling that meets his searching eyes is shorter, younger, the throes of death no longer tinting his skin. His clothes aren’t the casual hoodie, the jeans, the bleak leather jacket Ben latched onto all those years ago and hasn’t taken off since. In their place is the uniform of the Academy, complete with blazer and tie and shoes.

Ben was always slightly pale-looking as a ghost, even when manifested and chatting to Five about friends and school, but now he seems to have lost all colour, his face so white it almost mirrors Vanya’s suit.

“Klaus, Five’s not going to listen!” Ben yells, frozen and afraid and expression so unbearably similar to when Reginald send Five away that Klaus has to blink away the images of the basement. “He’s taking us back further!”

Whipping his head around so quickly his bones crack, Klaus realises with a petrifying jolt that Five’s no longer watching the twisting vortex above them, instead gazing at him with such sad eyes that Klaus is sure his heart just gives up and dies right then and there. Ice squeezes through his veins, shuddering his skin and filling the pit of his stomach.

Five smiles, a shaky, slight of a thing. “I promise.” He says.

Then the blue envelopes them completely, and they are whisked away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TIME, TIME, TIME, 
> 
> SEE WHAT’S BECOME OF ME!
> 
>  
> 
> [Tumblr](https://ancientstone.tumblr.com/)


	37. 16th March 2005

****

**16th March 2005**

Vomited out the sky like a bad Friday night kebab, the first sensation Ben feels since dying is the smack of his entire body against the earth of the Academy courtyard.

It’s not what he was expecting.

Those times he imagined being alive again, during the dark moments when the pain of his death was at its strongest and even Five’s bright, toothy smile wasn’t enough to shake him from his funk, Ben always pictured this moment to be a happy one. He knew it was impossible, once someone’s kicked the bucket there’s no way to bring them back, Klaus’ powers or no, however, that didn’t stop him from picturing the moment of revival anyway. 

It was nice to just enjoy the brief flutter of hope in his chest, as fleeting as it was.

There would be hugs, he thought, the kind tight enough to leave you struggling for breath, and that overjoyed, unbelieving laughter, the same type that Klaus made when Five returned from the future. His brother would be ecstatic, his words emotional and filled to the brim with love, and Ben would finally get to wrap his arms around Five without fear of pushing Klaus’ abilities beyond their limit.

He would also punch his brother, maybe not in the face, but perhaps the arm, because Ben can be an annoying sibling as well and he’s had to put up with years of Klaus singing _Abba_ at the top of his lungs.

This isn’t what Ben gets to experience.

“No…” The voice of Klaus breathes somewhere to his side, and very slowly Ben sits up, the bizarre tingling of pain flicking over his arms. His hands flex, as if wanting to itch the sensation away. “No, no, no! Five!”

Blinking the spots from his vision, Ben glances around, his mouth dropping open with questions only for his voice to die on his tongue.

They are collapsed in a vaguely similar imitation of their previous circle, Luther doing a very good job at not dropping Vanya as Allison and Diego carefully untangle their limbs into something less possessed looking. 

They’re younger, Ben realises with a jolt, and looking down at himself he finds his own body exactly the same as the last time he properly inhabited it. Gone are the longer legs, the larger hands, all the signs whatsoever of puberty, replaced with the rounder, softer edges of younger teenagerhood. He wonders if he will talk with the same wobblily voice that plagued him for years.

Having already managed to get to his feet, Klaus sways noticeably, knees grazed and bloody. His eyes are red.  
He’s staring at an empty spot in their haphazard circle.

The pieces fall together.

“Klaus?” Ben whispers, because he’s staring at the sixteen-year-old version of his brother, and the implications of such a sight have just started to creep into his brain.

Five had been there, he’d literally right there next to Klaus. They’d heard him speak and breathed the same air and Klaus had been holding his hand tightly in his own. There’s no way Klaus would’ve let him go. There was not a typhoon in existence that could split their hands apart.

A jolt rocks through Ben’s body, clenching at his chest and squeezing for all it’s worth, and he can only shudder as a horrible, terrible emotion shoves its way through his core.

Ben’s mouth feels dry. “Oh no…”

A sob escapes Klaus, a gut-wrenching, twisting noise, and he collapse back to his knees.

“He didn’t listen.” Allison says softly, the fingers of one hand gently tracing back and forth across her now perfectly intact neck. When her eyes meet Ben’s, they are glassy. She blinks at him. “Ben!”

“Holy _shit!”_ Diego surges towards him, and it’s all Ben can do to brace before he has an armful of brother clinging to him. “You’re here! Fuck! You’re alive!”

“Hey Diego.” Ben offers, but there’s less joy in his voice than he would have imagined. Over the shoulder of his brother, he watches as Allison crawls across the ground to hold Klaus.

Pulling away, Diego follows his gaze, still keeping one arm wrapped firmly around Ben’s shoulders.

They all jump when the doors to the courtyard fling open, and the imposing figure of Reginald Hargreeves towering over them. Their father’s eyes are just as hard as Ben remembers, sharp and scrutinising and filled with a thousand turning thoughts they will never get to hear.

Their father steps towards them, his mouth a thin, disappointed line. “What is the meaning of this?” He demands, looking at each of them in turn. He frowns when he sees Luther holding an unconscious Vanya. “Number One, explain what is going on here.”

Ben takes in Luther’s face, noticeably three shades pales than it was seconds before, and Ben doubts it’s to do with the jump through time. Diego adjusts himself against Ben’s side, his head turning back and forth between Reginald and Luther. Klaus continues to sob quietly into Allison’s shoulder.

“Number One!” Reginald loses patience. “Explain!”

“She tripped.” Diego stands, his body held square and his jaw rigid. “We were playing, and she tripped.”

Their father makes a noise. It’s not quite a growl, but it could be, if it wanted to. “You know that fun and games are restricted to Saturdays from noon to half-past noon. You have completely abandoned your studies, and now Number Seven is paying the price for your insubordination. Number One, Number Two, get her inside to Grace.”

Diego and Luther share a look, and then glance to Ben and Allison. At Allison’s nod, they silently head inside, both peering over their shoulders as they go. Ben hears Diego mutter something to Luther once they’re inside.

“Number Three, Number Six, explain what has caused Number Four such dramatics.”

It takes every single ounce of self-control to keep Ben from unleashing The Horror on Reginald right then and there. 

This man has never been made to grieve the same way Klaus has, never had to feel the entire world dropping below his feet, plummeting away and leaving you useless and alone. Klaus has lost his _child_ , twice, now, and Reginald cannot hold a candle to that type of pain.

This isn’t just Ben’s interpretation, either, this is solid fact. 

Reginald Hargreeves experiences the deaths of two children in his lifetime. The first was the original Number Five, the toddler they barely remember who ran out into traffic and was killed because of it. The second was Ben himself.

Ben was at his own funeral; he knows _exactly_ how Reginald handled it.

Klaus, perhaps too wrapped up in his grief or simply not giving a fuck, ignores the words and huddles in on himself, Allison rubbing at his back soothingly. Throwing caution to the wind, Ben crawls over, laying a hand over one of Klaus’ and squeezing.

Reginald seethes. “Explain the issue now or-”

“ _I heard a rumour_ that you left us alone for the rest of the day.” Allison says, perfectly calm and staring her father straight in the eye, watching as they cloud over and Reginald turns on his heel and leaves without another word.

They don’t watch him, turning their attention straight to Klaus.

“Come on.” Ben says softly, with a small wobble to his voice. “Let’s go inside.”

It takes both of them to get Klaus to his feet, and standing on either side of him, holding onto his elbows, they slowly shuffle through the doors. At first Allison thinks they should go to their bedroom, but when it becomes clear that stairs aren’t going to work for Klaus right now, they detour to the living room. 

Ben takes Klaus’ head on his lap, the rest of his brother’s body curled up on his side, almost as if Klaus believes that if he can scrunch up tight enough, Five might magically reappear.

Allison fetches a glass of water from the kitchen and returns with Diego and Luther in tow.

The room is quiet. The fireplace is going, as it always is, and there is a soft ticking of an old clock in the corridor. Their siblings loiter, unsure and uneasy, glancing at one another in the search for the correct words.

It’s like the day of Reginald’s funeral all over again.

Ben hides that thought within his mind, because if it was, then Five would miraculously burst out of the sky and everything would be alright.

“Um, Vanya’s still asleep.” Luther says, and while his voice is quiet it feels terribly loud in the near silence. “Mom’s with her now.”

Ben lets his fingers rake through Klaus’ hair. He’s not sure Klaus notices.

“Are we…” Diego works his jaw a little, and Ben can’t tell if it’s just him trying to organise his thoughts enough to impeach the subject or the return of the childhood stutter. “Are we going to tell anyone? About what happened? The apocalypse and…And the cause?”

“I don’t think telling Dad will do any good, considering his,” Allison waves a hand vaguely, and it’s enough to convey what she needs. There is a sadness in her face, one that almost reminiscent of Klaus, but Ben doesn’t have time to ponder it as Luther hums.

“We could…Go?” He tries tentatively, his arms crossed over his chest in a protective manner. “I mean, there’s nothing really keeping us here.”

“Go where?” Diego counters, but he’s not rebutting Luther as he normally would, merely adding information. On Ben’s lap, Klaus sniffles weakly. “We’re kids. No one’s gonna hire kids or let us live in their apartments. We can’t rely on Allison rumouring everyone. Also, you really wanna have the fallout of,” He points upstairs, towards their bedrooms, towards Vanya, “In a small flat? Here we at least have space to punch each other, and Mom to fix us up afterwards.”

Allison breathes heavily, glancing at Klaus and then schooling her expression. “For the moment, the best thing to do is lay low. Once everything’s settled, we can go from there. Vanya can-”

_"Holy shit!”_

Practically everyone jumps out their skin at the very loud exclamation from Ben’s lap, Klaus bolting straight upright and not giving a single damn about his brother who has _monsters in his body_ that _don’t react well to surprises, thanks._

Rubbing at his chest and feeling the nauseating sensation of wriggling under his touch, Ben shakily asks, “Klaus?”

Stumbling across the room, Klaus completely ignores any probing as he stares at the calendar hanging on the wall, the one Mom likes because of all the beautiful stock images of the wonders of the world. She always said the calendar was too nice to hide away in the darkness of the kitchen.

Klaus jabs his finger at the current date, traceable by the perfect X in the corner of the square, before spinning around with enough speed to nearly snap his neck. His cheeks are still wet, and eyes have become red raw, but Klaus doesn’t seem to care as he gapes at them.

“He’s alive…” He squeaks, and then repeats, louder and stronger, “He’s alive!”

“What?” Ben instantly gets to his feet, joining Klaus at the calendar, and suddenly the date clicks. “Wait-”

“It’s the day before you die, which means this is after-”

“The night you snuck out.” Ben finishes, his mind reeling.

He remembers this specifically, because after his death Klaus spent several nights sobbing to what he thought was his empty bedroom that he wasted too much time going out and messing around when he should have been spending time with his now dead brother. This did nothing to stop him from getting high, but that guilt remained, and it wasn’t until he got sober enough to properly see Ben that it started to ebb away.

Five had also been a decent distraction.

“Holy shit.” A smile starts to tug up Ben’s mouth, and there’s a tentative one on Klaus as well. “He promised, and he-”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Diego butts in, walking up to the calendar and frowning at it, confused, “Five’s, what, conceived?”

Klaus nods. “Yeah, sixteen-year-old me has already had his night out, so Five’s with his mother.”

Diego’s nose twists. “That’s weird, dude. Is he, like, conscious of that?”

“Who fucking cares! My son’s back!”

“And,” Luther adds, his arm now around Allison’s shoulders, “We know what’s going to happen tomorrow. We can protect Ben from being killed.”

Ben cannot help the sarcasm that slips through. “That would be appreciated, yes.”

Luther takes it in good humour and snorts.

“How did he know when to take us?” Allison asks quietly, her arms crossed.

Glancing at one another, Ben and Klaus both spend a second thinking back, running over every conversation they ever had with Five. While they explained to Five that Ben was a ghost, and that he had died, the _hows_ and _whens_ were deliberately left out of the conversation. Five, being the genius, inquisitive kid that he always was, ended up asking anyway, and was stated by the promise of being told when he was older.

“Oh!” Ben snaps his fingers. “Vanya’s book. He said he read it in the apocalypse, and the date was in there.”

“Shit, he remembered that as we were nearly exploded by a chunk of moon?” Diego says, his eyebrows raising to the roof. “Jesus!”

“He’s always been clever.” Klaus grins with every bit of pride a parent can muster. “He was amazingly quick to pick things up and store them away.”

Luther adds, “And he’s going to be again.” 

“You bet he is!” Klaus laughs, but then his expression dims. “Fuck, wait, how long is it until November?”

“A while.” Ben nudges his side, and tries to lighten his mood, “But when he arrives, it’s going to be to the most baby-proofed house in the world!”

Tears well Klaus’ eyes again, and he snickers. “You bet!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to the person so many chapters ago who asked something along the lines of ‘will we see baby Five again’ (I can’t for the life of me find that comment now so I can’t quote it). I had to answer like, “I dunno, maybe???” when in reality I was like, “Yes, but not in the way you’re expecting!”
> 
> [Tumblr](https://ancientstone.tumblr.com/)


	38. 22nd June 2005

****

**22nd June 2005**

Klaus sits at the top of the stairs, staring at the front door.

“Y’know, he’s not going to arrive any quicker just because you’re sitting in the way.” Allison hums behind him, the soft padding of her school shoes coming to a halt. She settles next to him, bumping his shoulder. “You ok?”

“Yeah.” Klaus breathes, trying not to make it sound like a forlorn sigh. He forces his mouth into some kind of smile that hurts his cheeks. “How about you?”

“Don’t deflect.” Allison tells him, sniffing disapprovingly.

He exaggerates a pout, tilting his head at her in a way that normally worked at getting guys in bars to feel sorry for him and let him bed down for the night at their place in return for certain favours.

Ben used to hate it, flickering in and out of visibility as he did during those terrible months. He would follow after Klaus, hovering like a silent, scowling phantom, and whenever Klaus’ companion exited the bedroom (Ben having sat himself somewhere out in the hallway where he couldn’t hear but could still see if someone left), he would trail around behind them, making sure Klaus wasn’t about to be roofied.

It’s strange not to see Ben now, hovering behind his sister, mouthing things for Klaus to say or trying to manipulate the conversation from beyond the grave. 

Klaus didn’t realise how used to it he was, not until the first night. He had laid there, alone in the darkness of his childhood bedroom, the faint smell of weed in the air and his heart still thudding with the several thousand emotions he went through in the span of only a few hours.

The quiet had been downright unnerving.

Ben joined him around midnight.

Today is one of their rare days where they’ve managed to pry themselves free of each other and go their separate ways.

“Who says I’m deflecting?”

“Klaus.” Allison says in that tone of hers that means even if she isn’t rumouring, you’re going to end up spilling everything to her anyway. “I can imagine _exactly_ what’s going through your head right now.”

Klaus is about to ask _how_ , because his sister isn’t him and how can she possibly understand what he’s feeling at the moment, the anxiety and the fear and the bubbling nervousness that’s settled under his skin like spilled fizzing soda, when realisation strikes him down to the centre of his core.

He isn’t the only parent of the group.

_Claire._

He sees the exact moment Allison realises he’s figured it out, because her eyes turn sad and she glances away, nibbling at her lip. Leaning forward, she wraps her arms around her knees, absently settling her skirt over her legs.

“Oh, Allie,” Scooting closer, Klaus wraps his arms around her, squeezing tight enough that it must be painful. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t think.” 

He didn’t. Klaus has been so wrapped up with everything, including chucking out all the drugs he could find stashed away in his room, that he’s barely had enough time to think straight.

Allison didn’t say anything, but she shouldn’t have to.

Laughing without humour, sounding wet to his ears, Klaus confesses, “Shit, I don’t know how to fix this.”

Five’s coming back. 

Despite everything, Five will return to Klaus one way or another. Ben’s already whispered to him during one of their long nights of wakefulness that he thinks the Five they’ll get won’t be the Five they know, and while the thought of it stirs emotions deep in Klaus’ stomach he doesn’t want to think about, they are also mixed with the knowledge that even if he is new, Five will still be his little, genius boy.

Allison isn’t so lucky.

Unless she does everything exactly the same as last time, making sure that she meets the right people and falls into the correct relationships, the chances of her reuniting with her daughter are pretty slim. Even if she does manage it, there’s no guarantee that it will be the same child she once knew.

Briefly, he wonders if Allison is going to blame Five for taking her child away. If their positions were switched, Klaus can’t lie to himself and say he would be completely willing to forgive, especially after such a short amount of time.

“It’s ok, Klaus.” Allison says softly, leaning her head against his shoulder. She huffs, sounding a little choked up. “Well, it’s _not_ , but I get we’re not here just because Five fancied sending us to the past on a whim. If we didn’t come here, then Vanya…” She sniffs. “We gotta save the world.”

“Doesn’t mean you can’t be upset.” Klaus informs the material of her uniform, squishing his cheek against her and letting his thumb rub soothing circles. “You can be angry, if you want, I won’t-”

“I’m not angry.” Allison, his beautiful, understanding sister interrupts, sounding strong and certain with her words. “I’m not. I won’t hold it against Five or you. I just…I miss her. I didn't get to say goodbye.”

Klaus hugs her tighter.

They sit there for a while, in the quietness of the mansion. 

The last few months have been a hectic frenzy of rumours and emotional trauma, and it’s only now as June begins its final leg that it feels as if things are finally settling.

Reginald has been rumoured so much it’s almost hard to keep track of.

Already, he’s abandoned all of their ‘training’, something that happened after Luther vanished for two days and came back with bruises and a black eye, has been told to keep out of sight, and is in the process of transferring the majority of his finances equally into all of their accounts, including Mom. They have a running list hidden under the floorboards of Diego’s room of things to get Reginald to do before they send him away, include writing down everything on Mom’s programming, and explaining the ‘end of the world’ thing he always went on about during their childhoods.

Pogo’s trickier. 

After a few weeks, they all ended up in Ben’s bedroom debating what to do with him. While Mom is an obvious keeper, and Reginald is getting the boot as soon as they’re done with him, Pogo is, and always has been, an awkward middle ground. He mills in neither Reginald’s nor Mom’s territory, allowing the bad, traumatic things to happen to them without voicing concern, yet offering a kindly hand and sympathetic ear afterwards.

Eventually, they decided that they will send him away with Reginald. After weighing up the pros and cons, it just felt like the best decision for all parties involved. Pogo, for whatever reason, likes Reginald, and somewhat vice versa, so they should get on fine.

Vanya, unsurprisingly, has been giving both a wide berth.

It took a full day to fully calm her down when she woke, and another for any of them to be emotionally stable enough to manage a good, proper talk.

Klaus grimaces, closing his eyes.

That had been rough.

Really rough.

Thank fuck Five wasn’t here to listen to any of it, because he would’ve been protective as hell at some of the home truths tossed about.

Beneath them, the floorboards rumble, and Allison and Klaus detach from one another to peer over the side of the stairs at the open door that leads down to the basement. The elevator has been demolished, leaving kinder, light-giving stairs and making the training space beneath seem like another part of the house rather than a dungeon for pain and terror.

Allison wipes her cheeks dry and calls, “Everything ok down there?”

Klaus takes her hand.

“We’re fine!” Luther yells back, sounding only the faintest bit winded. “Just an accident with a phone going off!”

Diego’s spluttering in the background, his coughs echoing down the long basement hallway they’ve taken the time to decorate with stickers and posters and whatever else they can get their greedy hands on. Ben makes some kind of teasing remark, his voice muffled by the layers of wall between them, and Diego replies something indignantly.

The Luther situation was strained at first, and Klaus genuinely felt for their brother. The poor guy had been caught between numerous rocks and numerous hard places, not at all helped by the newly opened eyes about the man he looked up to all his life. The first couple of days back, before they fully worked out what to rumour Reginald with, Luther had to face exactly how they were being treated, and how Reginald constantly warped it to sound like it needed to be done. 

Not to mention the tension between him and Vanya.

Luther has been trying, though, leaving when she screams at him and sitting outside her bedroom door when he wants to offer comfort but not overstep boundaries, and the attempts seem to have been going a long way.

Slowly, Klaus runs his hand through his hair. He’d forgotten how he used to keep it much shorter as kid, and how long it takes to grow out afterwards. Then again, perhaps it’s for the best, considering Five was always a very grabby baby.

“So, are you going to tell me what’s eating at you?” Allison asks, squeezing his hand. “You can be honest with me.”

“I just…” Klaus gazes at the door again, which remains stubbornly closed. “I wish I knew where she was.”

“She?”

Klaus’ knee starts to bob. “Five’s mother. I don’t even remember meeting her at this point. She could be anywhere, doing who knows what.”

“You’re concerned she isn’t taking care of Five.”

“I mean, think about how young she is!” Christ, Klaus hadn’t really registered it the first time around, being the same age as her, but now, looking at all of them, at the rosy-cheeked _infant_ he sees in the mirror, it’s downright terrifying. “Does she know what to do? Is she looking after herself? I don’t think she drunk or smoked or anything the first time around, but who knows how we could’ve changed-”

“Ok, calm down.” Allison sets a hand on his shoulder, rubbing it. “Working yourself up isn’t going to do anything. Five’s mother is young and inexperienced, yes, but clearly she cared enough the first time around to at least bring him here instead of taking him some random care home.”

“But-”

Allison speaks over him. “Klaus listen to me. I’m not her and I don’t know what her reaction was when she found out she’s pregnant, but when you spend nine months with someone, it’s hard to simply…” She waves a hand, searching for the right word, “Block it out. On a pragmatic, fundamental level, she will know she needs to be careful. If she cares more than that, then she’ll do her best. At the moment, that’s all you need to care about.”

Sighing, Klaus scrubs his hand over his face, kneading the heel of his palm into his eyes. Allison is right, of course she is, but it doesn’t help the burning energy settled in his stomach. 

Five is his child, and there’s no way he can’t _not_ worry, turning every possibility over and over in his mind.

Voicing these to Allison feels dirty, considering her situation. She’s going to be haunted by the _what ifs_ for the rest of her life.

His sister continues, a small smile on her face. “Just think about what comes next. We’ve got a nursery to decorate.”

“Nursery?”

“We have a stupid amount of rooms here, you don't think Five isn't getting his own, specially designed bedroom, complete with toys and a crib?”

A _crib._

Tears unexpectantly rise in Klaus’ eyes, and he swallows. “Five’s never had a crib before.”

Allison’s expression echoes his. “Come on, then, Mom and I found a ton of catalogues. Let’s look through a pick some things out.”

Five is going to have a crib, and blankets, and more than a handful of clothes, and _toys_. He’s going to be able to wear diapers which Klaus doesn’t have to ration, and clean bottles with somewhere to warm up his formula.

Letting Allison guide them, Klaus sniffles into his sleeve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unlike knowing the date of Ben’s death, Five doesn’t know when Claire was born. 
> 
> If he jumped to a time Claire was definitely there, then Ben would be a ghost again, and as Allison said before they left, they need to intervene with Vanya earlier rather than later, otherwise it would seem like they just wanted to take her out of the picture like a week beforehand (i.e. they go back a week = you just want to manipulate me into not lashing out vs go back to childhood = you’re willing to spend all this time to help me and create better lives)
> 
> Unfortunately, there were simply too many factors for Five to be able to calculate in the very small window he had to take them back.
> 
> On a lighter note, look who's now a series!
> 
> [Tumblr](https://ancientstone.tumblr.com/)


	39. 10th November 2005

****

**10th November 2005**

Klaus sits at the top of the stairs, staring at the front door. 

Perched around him, his siblings wait as well, silently ticking over their own thoughts as the noise of the quiet house fill the lobby.

Ben has his arm looped through Klaus’ elbow, keeping him from vibrating with nerves running a thousand miles an hour, his brain tripping over itself in an effort to think all of his doubts and fears and _what ifs_ at once. Allison is sat on his other side, their knees touching, her face a picture of bravery and strength. Klaus knows he will have to thank her later for it, in the privacy of a secluded room where they can hug and maybe cry.

Later, though, because at the moment he’s waiting for Five.

Luther shifts about from where he is sat three steps down, a large book of planes resting across his lap. The shifting of pages is the only thing to disrupt the silence, each turn revealing glossy pictures of World War aircraft and modern fighter jets. Some are black and white, complete with pilots in uniform grinning and stood around the wings, and some are in bright, stark colour, crystal clear against amazingly blue skies.

There are no more space books in Luther’s room. Diego helped him take them all to the charity shops a few streets over, Vanya tagging along as well. She and Luther had shared a look when she offered, and she had shrugged and smiled the most open smile she has given him since being back.

At the moment, Vanya is at the bottom of the stairs, doodling in a notebook.

Klaus waits for Five.

Reginald is gone and forgotten now, rumoured away with Pogo to the other side of the world where he is never to interact with them again. All the notes they got him to make have been left in his office to be studied later, the room being the only place they have yet to attack in their redecorating frenzy.

The taxidermy has been donated to the local museums. The trinkets and any other gaudy nonsense Reginald decided to collect has been sold and the money given to various organisations. The paintings, apart the ones Mom likes, were burned in a tremendous bonfire that practically lit up the entire mansion.

Warm rugs and comfortable furniture have arrived in their wake, family photographs lining the walls and enough babyproofing gadgets to make even the most reckless infant as secure as the President’s children.

Five is arriving today, and he’s arriving to a _home_.

No more being terrified he’s going to spatial jump out a window. No more watching out for bugs straying too close to curious hands. No more baths in sinks because the shower would be impractical for a toddler. 

Five’s going to have space to run around, he’s going to have clean clothes daily and a constant supply of warm milk and hot food. Ben won’t have to play lookout overnight in case thieves decide to try their luck with a defenseless single father, and Klaus won’t need to skimp and save to try and make the next rent or hot water bill.

When the knock comes, violently loud in the silence wrapped around them, Klaus startles badly, his breath hitching painfully, his body freezing in a moment of pure shock. Ben tugs at him, getting to his feet and gaping down at him.

“Klaus, come on!”

Just like that, Klaus is suddenly flying. He doesn’t register it, he has no recollection of Luther’s surprised yelp when Klaus nearly steps on him, or Vanya barely having enough time to scoot out his way as he makes a desperate beeline for the door, his vision tunnelling until he is swinging it open with a bit too much force, panting and wide eyed.

A girl, a mere child, who looks haggard and pale and scared, takes a step back, her grip tightening on the handle of the baby seat in her hands.

The first coherent thought that comes to Klaus is how much she looks like Five.

Not completely, it was always clear that Five had his blood, but the sharpness to her eyes, currently dulled with fatigue, and the shape of her nose are unmistakable. Her hair is a dark shade of brown, cut short and simply around her face. From the way it sits unevenly and slightly tangled, it looks as if she has run her hands through it several times in the last few minutes.

Christ on a cracker, they let _Reginald_ deal with her last time. She must have been terrified.

“Hi.” He breathes, and he can hear his siblings milling around several paces behind him.

“Hi.” She says back, and it’s strange. Klaus doesn’t think he’s ever properly heard her voice before. The first time they met, it was at the disco, and they had to shout to make themselves heard.

“So-”

“He’s yours.” Thrusting the seat towards Klaus, the girl looks ready to bolt, shuffling about on the step. “I don’t…Take him. All the paperwork’s in there, you just have to sign a few lines.”

Everything within Klaus want to snatch the seat away and never let go, to take the tiny, soft body into his arms and cradle him forever. He wants to hide away and lose himself in how much he adores his amazing, brilliant son.

Klaus doesn’t do any of that, because he’s too wrapped up in how little Five’s mother is.

They were just children, kids suddenly thrust into parenthood from one night of stupidity.

He wants to hug her.

“What’s your name?” He asks, and she looks like a rabbit at the headlights.

“I-”

“Just, so I can tell him?”

Her eyes are wide, and the expression is _so much_ like Five’s when he used to crawl into Klaus’ bed during a thunderstorm. 

“It’s on the paperwork.” She squeaks. “And an address and number, in case you ever…” She pulls a face, and Klaus’ heart lurches.

A name, address, and number.

Reginald, that fucking _bastard_.

She wanted to keep in touch, she practically planned on it. There was an olive branch, something to help keep her connected to the baby she had carried for nine months and then given the guardianship away. From the way she’s standing on their doorstep, it’s clear she would never be confident enough to march up to the Academy herself, bang on their door and demand to have her weekend with Five. Instead, she wanted them to come to her, on _their_ terms, making herself as small a nuisance as possible.

It never occurred to Klaus to check if she brought anything like this with her the first time.

Fuck, he took her baby away and never even knew it.

The question pops out before he can think. “Does he have a name?”

“No.” She says instantly, with confidence. “No, I don’t want to. You can. Please? You can?”

“Of course.” Klaus nods. “Yes, of course I will.”

He wants to ask her in, to sit her down and have coffee or tea or something. He wants to go over how she’s coped, if she _has_ coped, and offer his support. She’s done so much already, and he hasn’t been there.

Five is both of theirs, after all, and he more than played his part in making that happen.

They had been young, so terribly misguided.

However, she looks scared, as if the longer she is here the more likely she is to break, and so, with great care, Klaus takes the seat from her. The second he does she steps back, biting her lip and blinking rapidly.

“I’m going to go, then.”

It takes a lot of effort not to ignore her and turn his fall attention on the wiggling infant he can see in the corner of his gaze, but Klaus manages it. “If you want, you can-”

“No. I’m going to go.” She starts down the steps, crossing her arms over her chest. She pauses at the bottom, briefly glancing back. “Bye Klaus.”

“Bye.” Klaus croaks. “I’ll keep in touch.”

Her face twists at that, and Klaus can’t read if it’s relief, fear, or something else entirely, but then she’s gone, speed walking down the street and out of sight.

He stands there, watching.

“For fuck’s sake.” Ben suddenly says right beside him. “Let me hold my goddamn nephew!”

“Oh.” He gulps, and then, _“Oh!”_

Spinning around, Klaus shoves the door shut and sets the seat on the floor. His siblings huddle around him as he pulls out the paperwork that’s been shoved into and envelope down the side of the seat and sets it to one side. Then, he unravels the blanket that’s been accidentally pulled over Five’s head.

“There he is…” Ben breathes.

Tears well in Klaus’ eyes. His heart stammers.

The first time around, when Reginald was shoving his nose in and Klaus was far too high to form a cohesive sentence, he hadn’t really registered what was going on around him. It took Mom trying to take Five away for Klaus to snap out of his stupor, and even then, he didn’t get to see Five again until the night he and Ben escaped.

Five’s perfect. He's goddamn _perfect._

“Aw!” Vanya coos, squatting next to Klaus. “He’s adorable!”

Luther pats him on the shoulder, as if congratulating a new father. Diego makes an inquisitive sound.

Allison kneels down as well, very carefully running a finger over the fuzzy dark hair. “Klaus, he’s lovely.” Her smile is watery, and Klaus takes her hand and squeezes it.

“Come on then!” Ben urges. “The quicker you hold him the quicker I get a proper cuddle!”

Chuckling, Klaus unclips the straps and gently takes Five into his arms, tucking the small body against his. Five’s been dressed in a little powder blue onesie, and someone’s taken the time to clip a pacifier onto the bib around his neck.

Five blinks, his eyes not completely focused, and instantly Klaus knows this will not be his child from before. There will be no recollection of a previous life, nor the experiences that come with it. Five will never remember their apartment elsewhere away in the city, with their makeshift Christmas decorations and posters covering the mold spots on the walls.

Sniffing, Klaus runs his thumb against Five’s soft cheek, his chest filled with love, pain, hope.

“Y’know,” Diego says, his words slow as if he has been thinking about them for a long time, “Reginald named him before. If you want, you could rename him with something _you_ want.”

Klaus can remember, all those years ago when the horror of finding out Reginald had called his baby _Number Five_ was still raw, how he used to contemplate names. There were several that had struck a chord, that made his body fill with sweet warm fuzzies and always tug a smile up at his lips. He went over a few with Ben, in those moments he deluded himself that he would be able to legally change it, and they workshopped them together while trudging through street after street looking for somewhere to warm a bottle of milk.

Then, Five grew up, and decided he _liked_ the name and wanted to keep it. There wasn’t much Klaus could do then, daydreams of other names or no, and he always respected his son’s decision.

Mom stands in the doorway of the living room, a soft smile on her face as she takes in the scene. Around him, his siblings stare in awe at their nephew they were only able to meet after he had been to Hell and back again.

 _This_ is what Five fought so hard to achieve. He wanted to see the world saved, for people to keep on living their lives, and, most of all, to protect the family that he loved to dearly. 

He wanted Klaus and Ben to be happy, because to Five, they were his world.

Klaus smiles down at the baby in his arms and hugs him tighter. “ _I’m_ calling him Five, after the bravest, most special person I know.” Five stretches his feet out, his covered toes brushing against Klaus’ chest. Five sighs, safe and warm and loved. “And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

 

End.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One document and 84142 words later, and we’re done!
> 
> I want to thank everyone who took the time to comment, leave kudos, and bookmark this fic, it means the world to me and if I could hug you all I would! I hope you enjoyed your read (even if you were screaming at me), and don’t forget to subscribe to the series!
> 
> Sending you all lots of love and thank you again! Xxx
> 
>  [Thank you so much to siriuspiggyback for this amazing fanart!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21122492/)
> 
> [Come find me on tumblr!](https://ancientstone.tumblr.com/)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Fanart for Bolt From The Blue by TheArchaeologist](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21122492) by [siriuspiggyback](https://archiveofourown.org/users/siriuspiggyback/pseuds/siriuspiggyback)




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